Remembered
by CoyPiay
Summary: A small-town ballerina with anxiety and a hidden past is thrown into a world she had forgotten. She's forced to choose a path that will write her future, reveal her history, and changer her life forever. Set during the movie. Eventually Steve/OC. Rated for language.
1. A Certain Loss of Control

**Welcome all to the revamped version of Siri's story! There were just a few things that were bugging me. I also think the order of chapters was not lending a hand to a good story. Also not having chapter names was seriously driving me crazy. So if you are new to the story, hi!**

**And if you are rereading, hi again! I am sorry if you subscribed and then found it gone. Hopefully it wasn't too hard to find me again. There is some added and important information in this first chapter. So re-reading will be mandatory. Well as mandatory as fanfiction ever could be. So basically I am at your mercy.**

**I don't own anything, obviously. I've surrendered my writing to the vast internet. Thank God, for Joss Whedon and Marvel, though.**

**-Coy**

* * *

Remembered

Chapter One: A Certain Loss of Control

My teeth clattered together and the sound almost drowned out the noises of the night. Screams of women decked in glitter and straps and heels, the clacking of feet on the marble floor came second to my own fear. I could taste the panic; it seeped into my skin and seeped right back out to slither up the German walls, the art on display, and then hung, dripping like acid on to our heads.

Luke was too heavy for me, draped in my aching arms. His long legs were folded under, his knees brushing the floor. I stared down at his auburn hair, soft and tousled fashionably.

What had he called his hairstyle? The Joe? I choked out a strangled laugh at that brief memory; it was cut abruptly off as dark red dripped from his scalp onto my hands. It smudged down his neck, pooling in the shallows of his collarbones.

_Oh god oh god oh god_.

I hated the sight of blood. I was going to be sick. I forced myself to concentrate on the breath that tickled the inside of my wrist. He was alive. He was going to live. Somehow we would get out of this. I would just have to fight the tall dark and immensely intimidating stranger called Loki.

Who was I kidding? I wasn't a superhero.

My fight or flight response fought one another, arguing that I wasn't prepared for a night like this, that I had no response. I couldn't fly and leave Luke here with Loki, to die from blood loss or worse. I had nowhere to go and had no idea how to get there.

I wasn't brave. I couldn't even face being alone in the dark. I was twenty-two years old and still slept with a string of Christmas lights on.

At least I could admit my spinelessness.

I was definitely done for. A moment ago I saw a man who called himself Loki shove the point of the walking stick he carried into the eyeball of Luke's grandfather. I glanced back at the old man. He lay motionless on the bronze bull statue; the very picture of human sacrifice.

To what god?

The noble, good, part of me, the part that didn't have panic attacks in line at the grocery store because of a failed relationship, the side that didn't freeze in difficult situations, the tiny part of me that should have taken over whispered, "You can!" and, "You have a choice!" and, "This is Luke we are talking about here! You have to save him!"

If it wasn't for this tiny part of me I would have already had a meltdown and left him in heap on the floor.

A gentle touch at the small of my back shot adrenaline down my legs. I let out a small breathless yell as Luke slipped from my hands. I grappled with his limp arms, trying to haul him up again.

The man called Loki snickered at my feeble attempts. His hand slid from the small of my back to my side, anchoring himself closer. He leaned into my face.

"You have grown weak, Gersemi, in the company of humans." My stomach clenched at the touch of his long, inappropriately placed fingers.

He kept calling me that. Gersemi? Come on? Do I look like a Gersemi? Ew.

"You have the wrong person." I said, my voice wavering as the fingers moved up to my ribs. I was frozen still holding onto Luke's arms.

Please please please. Don't. Wake up, Luke!

"Do I?" He smirked darkly at my discomfort and growing panic. His hands turned from soft to iron, and he shoved me. I toppled over easily, landing on Luke, at his feet. I knew I shouldn't have worn such high heels. "I do not make mistakes. I am burned with glorious purpose. Perhaps you know not, or remember not, Gersemi, but I would know that face anywhere." He knelt and his fingers moved up my shoulder blade, traced over my neck and stopped under my ear.

"Please." I did not dare look up from his shoes. "I'm not even from here."

"Oh, I know, child." Then he straightened watching the crowd leave. "Quick, our distraction escapes."

With one hand he plucked Luke's wrist from the floor and began to drag him out the door, face down.

I scrambled to my feet.

I had use the full extent of my long legs to keep up. I heaved and failed, trying my best to bear my friend's weight as he was carried off. Limbs got in the way and I stumbled around. In the end, I grabbed Luke's other arm so at least his face didn't graze across the ground, and jogged to stay in line with Loki.

The air chilled as we passed through the entrance and bumped along, down the red carpet, to the street. The rest of the partygoers were like cattle, running in any direction to get away from the danger.

Sirens bled into the night air, hope of rescue from the evil man.

Finally! Took the damn police long enough.

Loki stopped for a second and pointed his stick at the cop car. I watched without understanding as some kind of magic flipped the car over. It came screeching to a halt.

So much for help.

Loki had changed, I realized. His formal wear and scarf were gone. In place was a costume one would see on a movie. Who would have known demons favored green and gold, favored ice, not fire?

He dropped his hold on Luke and strode forward. I kept my eyes on him, not able to look at Luke's wretched state anymore.

Yep. We were so dead.

"Kneel," he bellowed at the people. They scattered. "I said, _kneel_!" A flash of light reigned in the stampede, a circle of crackling energy, like lightning without sound. The people ground to a halt, seeing that they were encircled. They collectively sunk to their knees. Images of Loki stood guard around the perimeter, blocking any chance of escape.

Great, there was like five of him, now. And he was some kind of wizard. A lunatic wizard who thought I was his ex or something.

"Is this not your natural state?" he mused, stepping into their ranks. "I have come to lead you to a life of freedom. You no longer have to toil, to think for yourselves," he continued.

Dumbstruck people in the most humble of positions gawked at his tall and terrible form as he stood in their midst. His speech faltered in my ears as my brain rushed to think of what to do. Run? No. I couldn't carry Luke. I had already established that I was not a super hero. I was less than speck of dirt to him.

"Gersemi," he said, suddenly turning towards me. I stood trembling over Luke on the red carpet. "Shall we show these puny humans what happens to individuals that, say, show signs noncompliance?" What the hell kind of a name was that anyway?

I had no idea what to do. I just stood, gulping air like I didn't know what it was.

His gaze disdainfully took in my weakness, stopping to bore into my own widened eyes. I knew, suddenly, that I would obey and maybe he would let me go, or live.

I turned to the faces in the crowd, relieved for a nanosecond to not be looking at him. The expressions of the people ranged from terror to something kind of weird pointed at me disbelief? Doubt? Dislike? No, it was much stronger.

An old gentleman's face said it all: hatred.

My face flushed with shame. I got it then.

He had successfully and instantly turned me into the monster and murderer. They thought I was with him, on his side, his servant.

Worse than him.

I tried to shake my head, to open my mouth to deny their silent accusation, but all the parts of my body I needed had shut down and drifted away somewhere into the dark night to hang with the stars in safety.

I stood there dumbly, which was quickly becoming my normal state of being, looking right into their hatred. I was so alone.

Even if Loki did let me go, these people would never let me live. Yet again, there was that spark the will to survive. My whole being reverberated like thunder with the desire and the need to survive past this nightmare. But how? Something animalistic answered: do anything.

He brushed his way back through the crowed. The closer he got, the heaver my heart crashed against its cage of ribs. He was grinning, reveling in my understanding of hopelessness.

He had me in the darkest place I had ever been.

There was no string of Christmas lights to show me the shadows. I was the shadow, the cornered animal and the monster.

"Kill him," he ordered me in a voice that broke over me like a wave and then washed over the crowd. A woman began a heart-torn wail.

_Kill who?_

That was my first thought. Not "are you insane?" or "no fucking way." That's when I knew I would do absolutely anything to live.

People stood and began pushing. He whirled around, slamming his staff into the cement. Another electric flash reined them in.

Loki turned back around, and impatiently closed the distance between us.

"Kill him," the man hissed an inch from me, his breath blowing the hair off my face, our noses almost touching. "Or I shall burn this frail plant in liquid fire and leave you alive, alone in darkness so deep the sun could never hope to reach you. Then I will take Asguard and torture every man woman and child who has heard your name, in the most intimate ways."

It was quite for a moment, except for a strange noise, a rhythmic wheezing, which I vacantly realized was my own breath. Not now. Not a panic attack.

I didn't know what that last part meant but I knew I was going to do what ever he said.

_Kill who? How?_

"You need only put your will to it," he answered my unspoken questions, pushing his staff against my palm. His other hand swept openly in an invitation. The gesture pointed to Luke. My head was light, from my irregular breathing.

No.

I couldn't kill Luke. I was supposed to save him.

The smooth material of the staff warmed to my touch and fit perfectly into the curve of my fingers. The warmth spread into my wrist and shoulder, climbing my throat. I couldn't, wouldn't ever let it go.

"Do it." He roared at me. I nearly lost control of all my bodily functions.

_Please Luke, please please please forgive me. Please._

My mind bowed towards the unthinkable and in the span of a second, a bolt shot out and bore into Luke.

My hand burnt, coiled around the weapon. It vibrated blissfully, evilly, jolting me up to my shoulders.

I couldn't, wouldn't look at what I had done. I stared at Loki, who was grinning like the Cheshire cat.

His mouth made the shapes that should have produced words. My ears were ringing. He turned to face his hostages and descended again into them. My mind scrambled the sounds like a badly tuned radio.

Out of all five or six of my senses, the feeling of my hand on fire was the only message that relayed itself to my brain. There was a whole world around me, and it spun madly, wildly, so that I could not see or hear or smell. It was like I was on some spinning amusement park ride, plastered to my seat by the centrifugal force.

I don't know how much time passed, frozen over my dead friend, devastated by my own doings. Why didn't I just kill myself? This was way worse than death. Why was I so selfish? And stupid?

The world got louder and louder till it roared in my ears. There were real sounds then, bits and pieces that I could make out if I just could catch them. The sounds fluttered about, just out of reach.

This was a nightmare. Yes. That's all. I was sleeping. This could not really be happening. The world shifted around, just like a dream. I couldn't see individuals, just flashes of color in the dark night.

"Staff!"

"Staff!"

Yes. The staff. It was still burning my hand. But I liked it.

"Down!" I focused on that one and tried my best to follow it to the source.

It was another man in costume, a blue body suit with stars and stripes. He was kind of familiar. Just another part of my nightmare. His body language was threatening, I noticed languidly. He stood with his feet apart, knees bent, one leg back, his arm cocked ready to throw a disk. A huge curved disk. Like a trashcan lid. I giggled.

"This is your last chance," he called to me, "put the staff down!" Never. I loved the staff.

My eyes found Loki. He sat on the street corner, laughing at me. Or with me, since I couldn't control myself, either. I was laughing still.

A robot, red metallic and somehow familiar, stood over him, his arms outstretched. Not a robot. Iron man. This dream was weird.

My legs buckled from under me, sending me sprawling to the red carpet, below. The wind knocked out of me, and the staff was ripped from my grip.

I woke from my dream to realize the nightmare was reality.

Pain.

There was so much pain. And emptiness.

I wanted to die.

I lay on my back, empty, next to Luke. He looked relieved it was over for us, peaceful, kind of. With his eyes closed, he brought me back to just last night. He had fallen asleep next to me, on his bed while I read the news on my tablet. I could almost hear his breath now, lulling me to sleep.

More fire, a fiercer grinding fire pain wracked me from my leg.

I found it in me to care about the pain. My leg was twisted horribly to a wrong side, obviously broken.

Blackness overcame me, drowned me along with nausea and a direct sense of knowing life was over.

* * *

The smooth cadence of humming was what I noticed first, a slight vibration under me, under the rough sheets and a flaccid pillow. Ugh. This bed was horrible. And cold.

What a horrible dream. I shivered at the memory of it. It hung over me like a cloud.

I did have a good amount of nightmares, but that one was so real. It was too real. I knew I would have a hard time shaking off the terror. Today was going to suck.

I would need a lot of coffee. And a few more minutes of sleep.

Without bothering to open my eyes I reached for the covers, flailing my hands blindly further and further down my bed until it brushed something hard, knobby. Metal.

The situation was getting harder to ignore and my sleep-fogged brain was trying to alert me mildly about the unfamiliarity of it all. What bed was I in? I couldn't remember what Luke's guest bed felt like.

Just five more minutes. Then I would get up and see if Luke was awake. Only two more days of my long weekend. I wondered what he had in store for us today. Was it the ballet?

I pulled on my legs to the side and up, as if to tuck them to my chest for warmth. A jolt of electric pain shot through me, the epicenter my left leg.

Waves of hurt washed over me and left me gasping for breath. I sat up awkwardly and found myself face to face with a black and silver contraption encasing my leg like an Iron Man boot. It ran from my thigh all the way down to my toes.

Sitting up intensified the pain to the point of panic.

Worse, I could not move it. I scrabbled at the boot trying to slip it off then looking for a seam, a clasp, a crack, anything to show me where to pry. I cried out at my own jolting movements but the fear of not being able to walk, to bend it, to dance on it, was top priority. The boot and my leg didn't budge.

"Stop!" I jumped as a heavy metal door opposite the unfamiliar bed swung inwards. I did not stop.

They didn't understand, who ever they were. They didn't dance.

"Stop! You will hurt yourself. I will get you something for the pain. Just-" A lady with brunette hair tightly clasped behind her head wore a dark grey jump suit and combat boots. She pulled at my wrists. She was surprisingly strong for a weirdly dress nurse, but I was maxed out on adrenaline and fought her like a beast.

My leg! What happened? My mind riffled through the last events, or tried to. I came up with fuzzy images of Germany and Luke. We had toured the city. Went out to that bar. I must have drank so much to not even remember what happened to my leg.

A pounding headache supported that theory.

Germany's hospitals were scary. They kind of looked like the inside of a spaceship all industrial and bland. Hospitals in America were usually very bright and sterile and cheery. Not that I had been there often.

I either began to cry then, or noticed I was crying. I was all alone in a foreign country with the worst hang over of my life. And I broke my leg! What would my mother say? Had she been informed? Was she coming to get me? Where was Luke? How would I tell the dance company? Was my understudy going to take all of my parts?

I imagined myself hobbling over to the director: _Sorry I took time off, to go to Germany, and like an ass-hat, got absolutely hammered and broke my leg._

"Mam? Need some help?" a male voice asked from the doorway. The doctor? He wasn't in scrubs. Man, Germany was weird. They both spoke great English, though.

"No! Stay back. She is dangerous." The nurse barked into my face, finally pinning one hand to the bed. I worked on her white knuckled fingers then.

Dangerous? I wish.

"No disrespect, miss, but she is a ninety pound girl." I instantly hated him. I was one hundred ten, thank you very much.

The man entered the small room and nearly filled it with his bulk. In one movement he had me pinned to the bed. My arms stuck between my chest and his one hand, and my good leg under his other hand. I glared through my tears into his face.

"Again," he said to the woman, who had been knocked out of the way, "no disrespect intended."

The weight of his trap made it hard to breathe and fanned the flames of my fury. How dare he! A complete stranger pining me to a bed in nothing but a hospital gown. My face burnt with anger, tears rolled down the sides of my face, dripping into my ears. Words were all I had left.

"I am an American citizen!" I blurted out with the last of the air in my compressed lungs.

"So am I." He smiled back at me. Then he saw me suffocating. "Oh!" The man let up on the pressure, "I am sorry!" His face showed genuine concern.

Disgusting. "Is that better?"

No. Better would be getting off of me and giving me my leg and clothes back and sending me home. I watched his eyes widen as he took in my hostility.

"Where's Luke?" I demanded, sucking wind.

"Who?"

"My friend. I am here visiting him."

The nurse and the man exchanged a look I couldn't decipher.

"Where am I?"

"Not to be disclosed, Miss Eisen. That information is confidential." The lady said, smoothing her hair with her palms and giving the man an annoyed look.

"What?" I wasn't in a hospital? "You have to tell me! It's the law!"

Or at least I hoped it was. At least American law. Maybe?

"We operate above the law, Ms. Eisen." She said. That scared me.

"Where am I?" I asked again, this time I asked the man.

"You are in custody of S.H.I.E.L.D." he conceded.

"Captain!" the lady barked. He glanced at her.

"What is that?" I asked, afraid to hear the answer.

"Not need to know information." She said sharply.

So I was their prisoner. I took in tiny mouthfuls of air. I couldn't deal with this.

"You have her, Captain?" she asked.

"Uh," he looked at my pathetic form, "yeah." She rolled her eyes, turned and left us.

"My step father can pay." I said immediately. "Anything. He's Walter Eisen. I'm sure you've heard of him."

"I have, actually." He looked kind of excited about that. "Howard Stark-"

"He's loaded. He'll pay the ransom." I cut in.

"Ransom?"

"Money. To let me go."

"I," he faltered, "don't think we can let you go. I'm sorry." He looked back towards the open door.

"Why!" I tried to struggle underneath Beefcake, but the brute was just too big. I tried words again. "My name is Siri Eisen, I don't have any siblings, I live in Aspen, I like Ballet and Modern dance and I have a dog and please don't hurt me! I just want to go home! I swear I'll do anything! Just let me call my step dad." He looked a bit panicked then, not sure what to do with my tirade. "I'm twenty one!" I added for good measure. "No, twenty two " I trailed off remembering my recent birthday.

"My name is Steve. Captain Rodgers. We aren't going to hurt you at least we aren't planning on it. Well, I don't think we are. You aren't a friendly, are you?" He watched me disintegrate again. My vision blurred. My heart felt like it dropped through my ribcage and melted into the mattress under me. I wallowed in self-pity.

"No, don't cry. I am sure we will sort it all out and let you go home," he let my leg go and patted my shoulder.

"Uh, Lady?" Steve Meatloaf called to the open door way, looking for help from the lady that left.

I didn't struggle, and more pressure let up. The weight on the bed shifted. The beefcake picked up my wrist gingerly and put my hand into his. It was warm and reminded me shallowly, that I was still cold. And getting colder. He sat near my pillow. I was exhausted.

"Look. I know it all seems bad, now, but I am sure Director Fury will let you go home."

"When?" I said through my tears.

"Captain! You are supposed to be restraining the prisoner, not comforting her!" Steve jumped to his feet, dropping my hand.

"Apologies, Mam, but I should have a word with Director Fury or "

"I have a name, Captain. Agent Findar." She fingered the name tag clipped to her breast pocket. "And Directory Fury has enough to deal with right now," she strode into the room and snatched up my arm.

"Agent Findar, I don't think this prisoner is being held fairly. Loki manipulated-"

"That is not something you decide, Mr. America. That is entirely up to S.H.I.E.L.D. And you even witnessed her in action. You saw the dead boy. You even were the one to-"

"Captain," he corrected her sharply. "Captain America."

Oh my god. I was being held hostage by lunatics.

Again.

Wait...again?

My dream slowly resurfaced. Dark images seeped into me. Of a party. Of an old dead man draped over a statue of a bull. Of blood and Luke and a staff and another old man hating me and Loki.

Loki. 'Captain America' or Steve or who ever he was had said, "Loki."

That was the name of the bad guy in my dream the one who made me...

No.

I was going crazy. This wasn't happening. I shook my head

Steve took one more look at me. I was beginning to have a full meltdown, now. There goes my heart, my chest. I watched him watch my panic attack bloom.

A muscle in his jaw clenched. He turned and had to duck under the doorway to leave my room.

A prick brought my focus to my arm. A syringe jutted out of my vein at an angle. Her thumb pushed a cold liquid into me that made it very hard to think or feel. It was nice.

I began to breathe normally again, my chest slowly rising and lowering. I relaxed into the rough sheet underneath.

She door locked.

The pain of my leg, the chill of a hospital gown with no sheet to cover me, and the panic of not being able to dance on my leg seeped out of me crookedly. It left room for the misery of knowing what I'd done.

If it wasn't a dream.

If I wasn't crazy.

I killed Luke. I used Loki's scepter to steal his life. All because I was afraid of dying myself. I was a coward. A cripple. A prisoner. And all I could do about it was feel sorry for myself.

-  
**To the newbies: Poor poor Siri! What ever shall she do? You shall have to read on to find out!**

**To the loyal readers: What do you think of the revision? Better? Worse?**

**To all: please please review to let me know how I am doing. It is rocket fuel for a writer.**

**Thank you for reading!  
**

**-Coy  
**


	2. Wrong Place, Right Time

**What do ya think? Is it passable? Terrible? Let me know, yo. This chapter is a bit of a rewind. Enjoy!**

**-Coy**

* * *

Remembered

Chapter Two: Wrong Place, Right Time

There was something about steam from a morning latte snaking up through the sunlight from a perfectly round mug nestled in my hands. The texture creamy and the temperature drinkable, my homemade latte made waking up for class bearable. I sat with my feet tucked up on the chair, at the deck table, a heavy iron breakfast spot shaped as if metal vines grew out of the deck, up the neck and spread out into a small circle where my half eaten cereal retired. The early sun warmed my knees and forehead and lit up the valley before me.

Aspen, Colorado slowly woke up. Bikes and windshields glittered in the streets between the two-story brick buildings. Runners huffed up the hill, past my apartment complex, headed to Aspen Mountain for a grueling workout. The cottonwoods were in full bloom, releasing tiny white tufts of allergies into the atmosphere, like summer snow. Aspen tree leaves fluttered in the slight breeze, shushing the bees fast at work on all the flowers that had survived last night's freeze. The pansies, mostly, still perked their heads towards the Colorado blue sky.

A music student's violin warm up drifted across the street sweetly. So did my mother's voice drift out of the open window behind me.  
"...sent Angela over to water, but everything so just so dry this year and it looks so bad yesterday that I just told her to leave the sprinklers on for a couple hours."

She was on the phone with her sister, Aunt Diana who had been out of town, cruising in Panama for the last two weeks.

"Mhmm," she agreed. "Yeah it just didn't look as good as I know you like it and I was worried for your irises. Yes. Ok I will. I will, I will. Ok. Mmm bye." I heard the chirp as she turned off the handheld. A moment later the porch door opened, lightly bumping my chair.

"Honey, are you keeping an eye on your time?"

"Yes," I lied.

"Bag packed?"

"Mom."

"Fine, fine," she squawked at me and took the chair opposite mine. "Oh, honey," she pulled my cereal towards her. "This isn't the organic kind. I told Angela to get the good kind with the organic sugar and no gluten. Didn't you see it in there?" She didn't wait for my reply. "I talked to Grandma this morning and she gave me the daily farm report." My mother began picking the dead parts off the flowers that hung limply from the flower boxes that line the railing of our second story porch. I didn't have to prompt her for the story.

"Rod Stewart died," she started off.

"What?" I sloshed my coffee. It dripped off my fingers warmly.

"Not the actor. The chicken. You know the black and white polish rooster with the feathers " she stuck her hands erratically on top of her head.

"Rod Stewart is a singer."

"Well," she ignored me, "Rod died and you know how he was the king of the roost. Flower was his girlfriend, the pretty white chicken with the huge tan eggs, and she would even stand up to Placido Domingo, the other rooster, and peck the others to keep Rod safe. Well since Rod died I don't know how. Grandma didn't know either. He seemed too young, you know, in the prime of his rooster life, on top of the world with a hot girlfriend. So now the other chickens have ganged up on Flower and have pecked her so bad. Grandma thinks she will die if she sticks Flower back in the coop. But anyway Flower escaped, flew the coop and was waiting for Grandma on the doorstep, like, 'take me in, the other chickens hate me!'"

Admittedly, it is a bit fascinating to know that chickens have politics as dramatic as Game of Thrones, but my mother was obsessed. She called my grandmother daily for the recent news of intrigue and violent back-pecking of her chickens in Wyoming. Other mothers watched soap operas.

"All the other chickens are so mean to her. Bob, Petunia, Chloe, Suzie, Hawk," she listed, unaware of the look I was giving her. "Even Pixie-Spotty-Stripy pecks at her! All because Placido Domingo is in charge now."

"That's terrible," I rolled my eyes, ending the trailing story, "I should " I stood up and grabbed my cereal bowl.

"Honey," she stopped me, "remember that I have spa day this afternoon, and then dinner tonight at Brexi. You should bring Gabe." My heart did a flip flop. I still hadn't told her my boyfriend of three years and I had broken up last week. I knew how she adored him.

"Yeah, I think he has practice..." I opened the cracked door with my foot and stepped onto the plush carpet.

"Too bad. Tell him to take a day off. You are more important than rugby." She laughed and her eyebrows rose. I squirmed inside trying to get away from the thought of breaking the news to her. "So when you are done with rehearsal, take a shower and meet us there. Walter will be there." Her voice rose after me as I padded away.

"Yeah," I called back less than enthused. Walter was my step dad, and twenty years older than my mother. I tried telling her a thousand times that he was just a sugar daddy, but that made her screech on good days and cry on bad days.

"Seven thirty!" she bellowed. I made it down stairs before I had to answer and dropped off my breakfast by the stainless steel sink. My black dance bag was waiting for me on the island counter, unzipped. Lunch had been packed by our housekeeper, Angela. I silently thanked her and zipped it up.

My dog, a mix between a cockerspaniel and a poodle, Pogo, grunted and squealed as he chased shadows of birds across the kitchen floor. "Bye Pogo." The neurotic dog ignored me, racing across the hardwood floor yapping at a shadow. He slipped, lost traction and crashed into some cupboards.

The drive to the dance studio was short, as everyone was trying to get into Aspen in the morning, for work, not out. Ballet class was longer, and rehearsal even longer.

Five hours later, I soaked the sweat from my face and collarbones with my towel. My body hurt. My feet really hurt. I plopped down on the floor, rolled onto my back, and shook my feet over my head, letting the blood drain from my over-taxed feet down into my shaky legs. The other students unpacked apples and almonds, stretched, or just sprawled out on the floor. Two more hours of rehearsals for the Aspen Santa Fe Ballet summer season. Still, I was pretty excited to be performing solos this year.

My shoes were dead, the vamp broken. I nearly rolled over every time I rose en pointe, but I had failed to bring an extra pair today.

My water bottle was just out of reach. I scooched over for the half empty jug, but stopped short as a pair of sandal-clad dirty feet stepped into view. I followed the hairy legs up to take in my ex-almost-fiance.

"Gabe." I scrambled to my feet. "No shoes on the dance floor." I scolded and pushed him out the door.

"Oh!" he tip toed back, comically, arms overhead in a parody of fifth position, his brunette curls bouncing along. I looked sheepishly over at Mr. Fraiche now looking un-amused and a little concerned. Other members of the company giggled.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded as soon as we were outside in the mellow afternoon sunlight, out of earshot.

"Haha, nice leeeeooootard." He drew out the word. I glanced down at my black leo and shorts, my dead, bruised looking, pointe shoes.

I took a breath. "Gabriel. What do you want." I stared at his tanned unshaved face. He took in my attitude and dropped the goofiness.

"I just was going to tell you I'm going to Australia." I waited for the punch line. "To surf," he added.

"Okay?"

"You should come," he looked away to the top of the nearest mountain. I followed his gaze to the green monster of a hill.

"Uh. We broke up, right?" I offered. My stomach twisted. I hated confrontation and couldn't bring myself to let people down.

"I guess. But we can still be friends, right?"

"I can't." I said quietly, hating myself for hurting him. "Why not?"

"I'm going to Europe."

Woah, where did that come from?

"Where?"

"Europe. Across the Atlantic Ocean. West. I'm sure you've heard of it." I muttered, blushing from my lie.

"Why?"

"Because." I said lamely.

"Ireland?"

"Maybe."

"You are going to Ireland! I knew it! Chicks always want to go to Ireland. Ever since that sappy movie. 'P.S. I am Dead'. Is it the Irish men? It is, isn't it? You know they drink a lot. They are probably abusive. You should stay away from them. Just avoid Ireland altogether. Plus the leprechauns-"

"I'm not going to Ireland!" I yelled and then flushed at my outburst.

"Where then?"

"I don't know yet."

"Huh." He pocketed his hands. We stood there in terrible silence. I felt so bad for lying to him. "Okay...Bye." He turned away like a kicked puppy.

"Gabe!" I pulled on his arm and instantly was distracted. I was a fool for great triceps.

"What?"

"Catch a shark for me."

The corners of his mouth turned up slowly. "I will," he vowed and then slid into his electric smart car. I always told him it wasn't a very manly car for a pretty rugged mountain dude. He always argued that his tiny silver car was environmentally friendly and threw out words like carbon foot print and global warming. I always then told him that cow farts are a bigger part of methane output on earth than humans driving regular cars. He never listened, just laughed his easy laugh.

My chest ached as he pulled out of the parking lot. He was a good guy, but immature. I couldn't see myself settling down with him. I couldn't see myself settling down at all. Why I told him I was going to Europe at all was a mystery. I hadn't even thought of it before.

Besides I couldn't just take a holiday from ballet, in the middle of the summer season.

Still, as I warmed my feet back up, rising and lowering en pointe, swinging my legs to loosen my hips I couldn't get the idea out of my head. Something called to me from over there. Who was there that I knew?

My understudy, Carina, pranced over, giving me a sly smile.

"Your boyfriend?" she asked, leaning against the barre, stretching her calf muscles.

"Not anymore." I snapped at her, annoyed just at her presence, and turned around. God, I was so mean today. I sighed. She didn't deserve this. I turned back to apologize, but she had already moved on, chatting to a group lounging my the piano.

Who was that foreign exchange student from high school? Brandon? No. Luke. Luke was from France, right. The Eiffel Tower and baguettes. That sounded good. No. I remembered then, Germany.

Stuttgart, Germany.

* * *

I couldn't even bring myself to look in the full-length mirror that hung on the back of the door. I was sure I looked like a two-dollar hooker with my obscenely tall heels. In bare feet, I was already too tall to stand next to anyone; heels make me feel alien, too far away from the ground, and like I would float away if the wind got too strong. I tugged at the stupid, short, balloon-y skirt that sat snugly all the way above my belly button. If only I could pull it down an inch or two, then my bare legs would feel safer. The metal bangles, well, bangled around nosily as I tugged.

Luke had insisted on dressing me for the night when I told him I had brought jeans to wear out. I usually did not have occasion to dress up because Gabe didn't take me on dates, which was not the reason we broke up, but definitely an annoying after-fact. I usually spent most of my days in tights and a leotard, an outfit normal people felt naked in. A skirt and scoop-neck tank and high heels made me feel naked.

"Ooooh!" Luke's voice exaggerated his goofy praise. "Don't you love those shoes?" Despite the fact he had looked immaculate all day, he had spent twice as much time getting ready than me. His hair stood up and to the side, a very avant-garde yet familiar crew cut shape. Now I really felt inadequate. He was very sexy and I was like a little girl in mommy's dress up clothes. A very very tall little girl.

"Um," I looked down at the ensemble, unsure how to proceed. He pulled on the cuffs of his jacket, straightening imagined wrinkles.

"And I told you the horizontal stripes would make you look curvy, baby girl."

"Oh." He told me that? I didn't remember.

"What." He took in my puzzled expression. "What's wrong?" He looked down at his own very stylish outfit. "You don't think the tee-shirt works underneath? Bitch, please. Just last issue of-"

"No! No, you look amazing." He did. The problem was me.

"So?"

"I am very tall." And I was. He was pretty tall, but I still towered over him like an awkward striped extra terrestrial.

"So?"

"Um..."

"What are you doing with your hair?"

"This?" I had pulled it back into a French twist, the only fancy up-do I knew how to make.

"Nuh uh, girl." He pulled me to the beautiful oak vanity and sat me down on the plush cushion, and began to pick out the bobby pins that held my hair. "You could probably just leave it down except for all the split ends." I flushed at the barely hidden admonition.  
I had spent all day with Luke and still hadn't gotten used to his strange honesty and instant familiarity. And his know-it-all attitude. It was like he thought we were best friends. No, it was that I was his project and he was my tour guide/stylist/voice of unreason. He was my sassy gay friend I never knew I needed, talking me down from my split end suicide and jeans.

I surrendered to most of his judgment calls and today had been amazing. My three-day weekend in Germany had started at his flat in what he called Benztown. After a gluttonous breakfast of mostly white sugar and bread, I had patiently endured the car show. He took me down a long line of shiny expensive cars and lectured on the history of Mercedes-Benz, Porche and another brand I hadn't heard of, which had all apparently started right here in Stuttgart.

Luke had turned out to be quite the travel agent, booking me a flight on short notice, offering one of his luxurious spare bedrooms, and planning out my three-day holiday hour by hour. We had taken a rack rail over a river to Schlossplatz, the very center of Stuttgart for tours thorough museums, including the one he worked at. We walked through two castles, a few churches and the opera house. He kept up a lecture the entire time, which, I suspected was a serious after-effect of working in a museum.

Frankly, it exhausted me to be talked at all day, but he was so friendly and generous and enthusiastic to take me around what he called the best city in Germany.

I was seriously lagging after lunch when he told me we were going shopping and then told me about how Konigsrabe was the most important shopping street, ever, and that I would be sorry to miss it. He had bought a good amount at a couple of stores and picked out a few things for me. Jeans were not fancy everywhere, I guess.

"Sometimes, baby girl, you just have to pull your balls out of your purse." He told me when I cringed at the heels. "Or your dance bag."

The sun began to set, and after three shots of espresso, and a shower, I was less of a zombie and ready for what ever he had for me next. I was instructed to 'get ready.' Apparently I hadn't done a good enough job.

"Turn around." He grabbed my small make up bad and rummaged around. I let him. Just go with the flow. Being out of my comfort zone was kind of nice, in a just-jumped-into-glacier-water kind of way. He went to work on my face, which by the way, I had already done. I stared at his fancy hair, up close.

"How do you get your hair to do that?"

"The Frank?"

Oh god, it had a name.

"There is a lateral movement rather than up and down, and it kind of turns on in on itself. The sides are downloaded with scissors and I set everything with lacquer." He explained. I did my best not to raise my eyebrows as he worked on my eyelids.

"Interesting," was my best reply.

"You have perfect lips. I hate you. Where do you get them from?" I didn't understand the question completely. I didn't get my lips anywhere; they were just on my face naturally. "Mother or Father?" he added, smudging something into the corner of my eye.

"Oh! I actually don't know. I was adopted." I blinked a furiously when he released my tortured face.

"Oh." He backed away, looking at his quick work. "Good. Do you know your other parents? The real ones?"

"No."

"Family is important," he told me, brushing a powder over my cheeks, daring me to contradict him.

"Yes," I agreed, more to be friendly than truthful. This was starting to get just a little too personal. Being out of my comfort zone was one thing, but it was a-whole-nother matter to be telling me how I should view my family, extended and estranged or not.

He sighed, snapped my bag shut and pulled me to my feet, his mood shifting as fast as I could get to my feet on my wobbly heels.

"Tomorrow night I am taking you to the ballet. Stuttgart Ballet is performing Onegin at the Staatstheater," his hands tugged through my thick hair, messing it one way and then crunching it another.

"Oh! You didn't have to do that!" and he was immediately my best friend again. I would endure anything to see the Stuttgart Ballet do Onegin. He just grinned a glowing smile.

With his hand on the small of my back, he walked me out the door. "I bet you didn't know that Stuttgart is the only city in Germany where wine is made. There are vineyards in town. The history of wine making, here, if I remember right..." and we were out the door, around the corner, plodding down the hall way to the elevator.

* * *

It was a good thing we had been drinking. I had to take my shoes off to avoid breaking an ankle and ruining my dance season, or career. At least I had enough reason to do that much.

My self-consciousness forgotten, I strutted about Stuttgart, barefooted, with Luke and his friends, who spoke very little English but flirted well enough over the language barrier. I was free from my mind, my anxiety and fatigue. Yes, Stuttgart had the best to offer in wine and beer selections. I had stuck with the wine to keep the calories at bay.

Wine always made me feel like I was on a ship, stumbling about on deck. My body sloshed and my brain bobbed. Sometimes, to my utter embarrassment, I could convince my drunken self that I was a pirate. On more than one occasion Gabe had to talk me out of sword fighting strangers with tree limbs or "walking the plank" into the pond on the golf course.

Being in a different country I had sternly kept that part of my drunken side behind bars. I didn't want my new European friends to think I was insane. Still, though, I could feel the sea wind, the waves under my seat, tossing me about. A giggle escaped my mouth unexpectedly when I thought about raiding and pillaging the brewery across the street.

"What are you laughing at, baby girl?" Luke asked, prodding my ribs. I just laughed harder imagining him in Captian Jack Sparrow's get up.

I watched his friends, the guys, trying to decide if any of them were Luke's boyfriend. I hadn't gotten the nerve to ask him yet if he had a boyfriend, or partner or whatever. He was quite the catch, though. His friends were pretty good looking too. Something in me, though, snagged painfully at the thought of getting involved with another boy. Instead, I admired their symmetrical faces, their sharp jaw lines, and icy blue eyes from across our table and over the rim of my wide rimmed glass of red wine.

"That guy wants to fuck." Luke hollered over the heavy electric music.

"What!" I found that the more Luke drank, the more his language declined.

His head twitched to the side, gesturing to a rather unfortunate looking fellow, leaning smugly against the bar, openly gawking at me. He smiled and winked at me.

I whipped around. No way was that happening.

"Oh lord." Luke said, laughing. "He didn't fall off the ugly tree, he is the ugly tree."

I snorted. "Luke!"

"Seriously. He must have a condition. Of the face." I laughed, throwing back my head. It felt good. I hadn't let go like this in a long time.

One of Luke's friends gestured behind me, grinning wildly.

I turned back around and almost fell over, right into Ugly Tree. He said something in German.

I shook my head, looking at Luke, whose eye brows were almost touching his hair line. "He wants to dance." Luke translated for me, winking. "Come on, Siri, even Ugly people need love."

I didn't have an answer for that.

I shook my head again. Ugly Tree held out his hand, not taking no for an answer. Luke said something to him. His face turned worse with anger. Thankfully he wasn't a creeper. He took the hint and turned to return to the bar.

The boys all let out a huge burst of laughter, turning a few heads.

"Shit!" Luke said, still cackling at my expense. I folded my arms over my chest.

Ugh. Confrontation.

Luke took another gulp of his beer. "Shit balls!" Luke yelped. "What time is it?"

I pulled my phone out of my purse.

"Ten thirty."

"Fuck!" He slammed his drink and then set the empty glass next to the collection of empties. He said something to the guys, pulling his jacket off the back of his chair.

"We have a party, baby." He said, grabbing my hand. Standing up wasn't easy. I gripped the table.

"We are leaving?" Luke squeezed my hand then slipped his wallet out, flicked a bill onto the table and landed a peck on his brunette's cheek. Ah. The brunette. Peter, was it?

Their calls of goodbye faded into the music, as Luke led me by the hand through the crowd. I checked for my purse, my shoes, my phone.

On my shoulder, in my purse, in my hand.

The quiet of the night outdoors was shocking. The air was heavy with humidity and fly-aways stuck to my face instantly.

"Shoes?" he asked.

"Nah."

"Honey, where we are going, they won't let you in."

"Where are we going?" I immediately dug them out of my over sized purse; the second one snagged on the zipper. I knew I wasn't sober enough for anything that wouldn't let me kick my heels off.

"A fucking party!" He grinned, yelling into the night air. I smiled, taking his arm so I wouldn't tip over.

* * *

It was a party, alright. But not a young person's dream. It was in the main square of Stuttgart in a beautiful, stately, building we had walked past earlier, but hadn't gone in.

"Stuttgart has the most scientific and academic researchers in Germany." Luke had offered proudly as we walked up the stone steps to join a much calmer crowd. I rolled my eyes and then stumbled.

The difference between our last stop and this one was hysterical. I had to bite the insides of my cheeks to keep from laughing. Then crying, because I knew the second anyone saw us , they would know immediately we were wasted.

"Luke I..." he stopped before we moved through the massive door way, looking back at me. "I don't think I'm- "

"This again?" He hooked his arm through mine. "Girl, you are perfect. I dressed you. Come on I just want to show you the lab. Besides, my Grandfather is the host. It's his benefit party. I promise to get you home before you turn into a pumpkin, Cinderella."

My old shy panicky self reared it's way through the wasted part of me. I did not have a good feeling about this.

Luke escorted me past the Campaign table and the stringed instruments, around a statue of a bronze bull with two heads that seriously creeped me out. He nodded to some people, smiling and greeting some, but we kept moving, upstairs and around the corner.

"There is a lab here?" It looked more like a government building or a museum than a building devoted to the sciences. I yawned. I was going to need a bed very soon.

"Yes, it's just this way. I think." He stopped short. I ran into him and giggled sleepily. Now it looked like we had walked into an old historical hotel or, like, one of the castles we had toured. "Shit." He turned around and started back to the party. "I thought it was on this floor, no fear, I will get us there. I bet you didn't know that this building, historically was used in the twelfth century..." before I could groan Luke stopped short.

A man strode alone down the hall.

He was tall. Like my kind of tall.

His long dark hair was slicked back. He twirled a fancy walking stick in one hand. For absolutely no reason my stomach dropped. His eyes locked onto mine, and a tiny spark of something like recognition ignited his face. His pace slowed, but his confidence didn't waver for a second. Luke had gone silent, too. We stood, transfixed by the sight of a man, larger than life.

I watched his pale lips as they almost whispered a word: "Gersemi?" A word that stirred something in me. A deep forgotten something.

"What?" Luke said something in German then, "Are you lost? Do you know which was the labs are? Shit."

The stranger ignored Luke and watch me, tilting his face, squinting his eyes as if he was trying to place me.

I wasn't supposed to be here. Or I really really was.

He approached, stopping at a comfortable, polite distance. He took my free hand and bent slightly to kiss my knuckles, his cold eyes on my face. He lingered for a second, smiling a shark smile, like he enjoyed the way I tasted and was going to eat me after all.

"Fate is too kind." His clipped, accented voice jovially moved over his still smiling teeth.

Then without any kind of warning, he straightened, and, as if he were leisurely hitting golf balls, swung his staff into Luke's head.

**Well, there it is! Now you know...haha. Next up, angst! Yay!**


	3. Interrogated

**So I guess I should have warned you about the language in the last chapter. Sorry! Is the rating ok? I can change it, fo sho. Just let me know. And, well, send me some positive reinforcement. In the form of a review. Happy Reading!**

**-Coy**

* * *

Remembered

Chapter Three: Interrogated

I stared glumly into the tepid, weak tea, yellowishly tinted, free from any leaf particles. The stark white of the Styrofoam surrounding the questionable liquid easily squished under my fingernail. After everything, I was still snotty enough to be more annoyed at the pathetic attempt at a hot drink, than grateful that I even got a drink.

I wanted to throw it into the face of the man opposite the table of me as he rifled through a manila folder. Instead, I sunk my fingernail into the rim of the cup, leaving a pattern of short lines, counting the seconds until Agent Coulson asked me another question.

They were all agents here. Or captains or directors.

S.H.I.E.L.D. had held me for at least a day. They had given me protein bars and water and shots of some kind of pain killer/sedative. All I knew about these people was that they were American, they were secretive, and they had no sense of privacy or basic rights. I had asked for a phone call, for an audience with the esteemed Director Fury, for anything that would tell me how to get out of here.

I ran my tongue over my cracked lips and looked again forlornly into the tea, for another future, or at least another drink.

"Not your cup of tea?" Agent Coulson genuinely smiled at his joke. It made him seem more personable than Agent Babysitter. A friend teasing a buddy.

Oh please. We were not friends.

His smile faltered. I instantly felt bad and took a hasty, tiny sip of what might have been peppermint, in a better life. He cleared his throat and flipped over another page.

"So, you're adopted," It wasn't a question and it felt random, like it couldn't incriminate me if I told him. But I had watched my mother watch enough TV to know that interrogators always seemed to turn your words into a confession. I understood the good cop/ bad cop routine. Coulson was a good cop. He had brought me tea.

Maybe I wanted to confess. Catholics did it all the time and they seemed to like it. Maybe the truth would set me free.

"Yes." I conceded, taking another sip.

"At four."

"Yes."

"Do you remember it?"

"No."

"Hmm." He traced his finger down a column of information.

"Ever looked up your birth parents?"

"No." He looked back down, rubbing the corner of his eyebrow. I was supposed to be confessing, here, not giving one-word answers about my boring life.

"I asked my mom about it a couple of times, but it just made her mad. My step dad has no interest in what happened to us before he married my mom," I added.

He watched me, surprised at the amount of words I used consecutively. The personal details I had given him to chew on, something he wouldn't find in that file.

He jumped at the opportunity. "I see. How is your relationship with your parents?"

I shrugged. Honestly I didn't know how it was. Normal? Only Walter was the only one who knew how much money he had, and my mother was kind of crazy. Maybe not normal. I was adopted, and shortly after, my dad died. I had four parents I didn't know-my birth mother and father, my adopted father and Walter-and one I knew too well. I struggled to come up with a shorter explanation for a second, but gave up with another shrug. He moved on easily.

"You work at... "

"I am a soloist for Aspen Santa Fe Ballet," I responded automatically, proudly. Then remembered. "Or I was." My leg jutted out to the side of me, resting on a spare chair like a huge rotting log, shame, anger and fear etched into the soft bark. It was the end of my career and art; I was sure of it. Worse, they wouldn't tell me what happened to it or what exactly was wrong with it.

"I am sorry about that," he said, eying my broken part.

I couldn't answer him. Sorry wouldn't cut it.

"It says here that you weren't paid much. Maybe a more lucrative job might arise. You do have a bachelors and your grades are pretty good-"

"It's not all about money!" I howled suddenly. "All anyone cares about is money!"

So much for staying in control.

"It's not just a career! It's my life! It's how I live! I don't know how to do anything else to keep breathing! And you just...killed that!" I was reeling in my outburst. Agent Coulson watched me carefully, coolly. "You killed me." My face burnt from the flames that had poured out of my mouth and soul.

I had had this conversation with my mother countless times. She wanted me to be more ambitious, audition for a bigger company, move to New York. Because it pays better. She wanted me to work myself into the ground for prima ballerina, or give it up all together.

She shrieked and blubbered about it on occasion.

I never yelled back. Before these past few days I hadn't had more than a heated conversation with anyone. I never acted out, even as a child. Control had been my armor. Now everything was out of control and I couldn't seem to keep anything in.

My feelings had probably built up inside. They sat hidden, somewhere deep inside, next to where my temper had hibernated, for the past twenty years. Now that I had a definite enemy, all the rage seeped out of my cracks, burning anyone in my path.

It was scary. This was why people saw shrinks.

"I'll get you another tea." He collected his papers, saving them from the puddle that quickly was running across the surface of the plain grey table, from the crushed cup in my hand.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to...Can I talk to Director Fury?" I asked again.

"Not today, he has bigger fish to fry. Excuse me." And without another look he stepped to the side, nodded to the security camera and exited.

God, that couldn't have gone worse. I so should have gone to Australia.

I watched as the tea, dark against the table, morphed shape and dribbled its way off the side of the table, just missing my boot. I released the thoroughly strangled Styrofoam.

Part of the problem, I realized, was that I didn't know what I wanted. Or better yet, I still wasn't sure about what happened. Everything seemed so surreal.

One moment I wanted desperately to live, to escape, to go home and try my best to forget everything. The next, I was wallowing in what I did. I didn't deserve to live. Luke deserved it.

The truth couldn't set me free if I myself didn't know the truth. I had nothing to cling to, no belief in what should happen. I lashed about like a whip, blew about like a piece of trash in the wind. I was lost.

I was spinning out of control.

I literally felt like I was falling backwards. Panic attack, I told myself. This is normal. See, here comes the tight chest, the feeling of ribs knitting themselves closer and closer, squeezing me like that Styrofoam cup. And then the fear of not being able to breathe creeps up. How am I breathing? It's fine, I say. It passes when I start coughing and choking. Almost over. It's normal, it's normal, it's normal.

"...a method! Haven't you heard of crocodile tears? Steve. Steve!" My ears were ringing but not loud enough to drown out a woman's voice. My chair was yanked back, away from the table, nearly scaring me into breathing again.

His hands wrapped all the way around my upper arms and he shook me, the idiot. "Miss Eisen. Can you hear me? Are you alright?" I nodded, gasping for enough air to tell him this was normal, to tell him to let me go. "Somebody call a medic!" he called over his shoulder. "Miss Eisen, are you choking?"

"No," I manage between hacking up a lung, "...fine." I tried unsuccessfully to pull out of his hands.

"I don't believe you." He stated, pushing my chair back more to get an arm under my legs and another under my back. Where did he think he was taking me?

"Captain Rodgers. Put her down. Now."

"Move, Romanov."

"No."

"I'm fine," you big lump. "I get panic attacks."

It was quiet for a moment and I took in the woman. She had cropped red hair, a leather suit that left nothing to the imagination, and a body to match it.

"I told you, Rodgers. Crocodile tears." One perfectly shaped dark eyebrow perked and an almost-smile played at her lips.

"You were faking?" He looked at me, hurt.

"No!"

"You were, you little bitch." Steve gave the woman a stony look. "Brat," she amended.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make a scene." My old polite self was back, I guess.

"Didn't you? Loki is probably escaping, right now." She gestured to the door, scolding Steve like a big puppy.

"Loki?" I didn't want to think about that man.

"Tall, dark, Norse god. The supervillain you came in with?" she spat sarcastically.

"Oh." I said weakly.

"Not possible. He's in that tank," Steve said with confidence.

"And you're in here, comforting his accomplice. Again."

I blushed. More importantly, Beefcake blushed too.

"Whose side are you on, Captain?"

"I don't have to answer to you, Agent."

"Put her down. She's in for questioning. It's my turn."

I grabbed a fistful of shirt slack behind Steve's back. As much as I disliked Captain Muscles, this lady was way worse. He looked down at me, and then set me back on my chair.

* * *

The woman called Romanov was everything I was not. She was strong, confident, beautiful. Steve had left me with her, and she was seriously intimidating. I knew that Agent Coulson had asked the easy questions, that the worst was to come. I also knew that this was it. This was my chance to prove that I wasn't a bad guy. Not really. If only I could hold myself together long enough. Just answer truthfully, the best I can. And coolly.

"What were do doing in Germany?"

"It was a three day weekend. I was there to see a friend." It was a nightmare of a weekend. And I killed my friend.

"Expensive weekend." Her eyebrow quirked.

"I suppose."

"Why were you at that party?"

"Luke's Grandfather was hosting the benefit."

"Who is Luke?"

"The boy I..." I couldn't finish that thought.

"Killed." She said simply.

"Yeah," I whispered squirming in my seat.

"How do you know Loki?"

"I don't."

"He knows you." She said, judging my reaction.

I rolled my eyes. "He thinks he knows me. He has me confused with someone else."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because...it's true." I said lamely.

"You were with him that night." She meant Loki.

"No I wasn't."

Romanov jumped on that."You are denying the fact you had his weapon in your hands, killing innocent people while he stood by watching?" I clutched my hands together, under the table, squeezing them as hard as I could.

"One person," I barely breathed out.

"What was that?"

"One person. Just Luke."

"Then you want me to believe you over powered Loki, took his weapon, and then started killing innocent people on your own?"

"No! Do I look like I could take anything from anyone?" I said, my voice rising. Calm down, I told myself. Stay calm Copy her.

"Looks can be deceiving." She leaned forward in her chair. "Did Loki touch you with the staff?"

"He handed it to me," I answered, confused by that question. "And told me I had to kill Luke or he would burn the entire planet."

"And you believed him." She sat back, looking at me like I was an idiot.

"Of course!" Why wouldn't I?

"Did you see him burn anything else that night?"

"No..." Not really fire.

"Did you think about running?"

"Yes, but I was in heels and we had been to a club before and had a few drinks. And Luke was unconscious because Loki had hit him with the staff."

"You were drunk?"

My face got hot. "No, just well, maybe a little."

"You have to know how bad this looks," she said after a pause.

"I do." My heart squeezed in my chest.

"I don't know if you fully understand. The way S.H.I.E.L.D. sees it, you were on international land, at the exact party as Loki, a man-god who is hell bent on destroying earth. You were drunk and suddenly turn on innocent person, were treated with civility by the same evil man, and then killed that innocent person. Anyone who knows what happened and who did it is fighting to be the one to bring you and Loki to justice. S.H.I.E.L.D. is keeping you here for your protection and the safety of the world. We need to know your motives, your plans. Why you did it."

I sat still for a second. I still couldn't believe I killed Luke.

"He threatened me. I was sacred for my life." I couldn't even make my voice sound like that was a good excuse.

"What about Luke's life?"

"It's clearly worth more than mine." I stared down at the table miserably.

"Don't say that." Her tone changed.

"Why?" I countered.

"All human life is sacred. Sometimes people fuck up or are fucked up."

"What about Loki?"

"He is alien."

"Hitler? Joseph Kony?" My tone was rising again, annoyingly, betraying my emotions yet again.

"There are exceptions to every rule. But even then, Hitler had a mother at one point." I hadn't thought of that. "How did you control the staff?"

"I just told it what to do, with my mind." That was the best I could explain it.

"So now you are magic?"

"No, I guess the staff is," I said then added, "Or science that we don't understand." I was mostly joking. She didn't acknowledge my jest.

"How did you know how to use it?"

"Loki handed me the staff, told me I had to kill Luke or else, and that all I had to do was think the thought."I winced at the memory.

She sat quietly, then, thinking it through. I was sure I had just dug myself into my own grave.

"Show me," she said suddenly, standing up and glancing at the security camera.

"What?"

She didn't answer. The door opened and she slipped out without a glance.

How was I supposed to show her anything sitting here?

A second later the door cracked opened. A flood of voices washed in from the other side. Arguing. One voice stood out to me, Romanov:  
"She isn't a threat... Fury would agree with me... she doesn't know... be used... I know what I am doing..."

And then the door opened all the way and Steve walked in, followed closely by Romanov. For the first time since I woke up in this nightmare I felt a ray of hope. Was this lady actually on my side? I had passed her test?

My heart was pounding, but in a good way. Could this be it? I didn't even feel the pain and the twinge of annoyance when my personal pack mule scooped me up.

Apparently there were no wheelchairs around. It was embarrassing to be carried about by Steve like a child. A child with a very awkward leg brace. He gingerly stuck my stiff leg through the door way first, made a three point turn, scattering a group of agents. We made it around the tight corner and he us sideways down the hall.

I had been this way before they brought me into the interrogation room, and was surprised earlier when they didn't blindfold me or anything. Probably because wouldn't be able to get around, anyway, since they broke my leg. We took a turn and the hallway opened up and got considerably brighter.

An entourage followed, including Agent Coulson and Agent Babysitter, who stormed quietly behind. I had the feeling that the dudes in suits following did not approve of our little field trip. We stopped at an elevator and Romanov pushed the button.

"Can I ask where we are going?"

"No." she answered immediately. I swear I saw the tiniest smile on the corners of her lips.

The facilities were very industrial. There were no widows which confirmed my belief of an underground government hide out.

My spirits kept lifting as the elevator ascended. I had no idea where they were taking me, but anywhere was better than that tiny bunk room or the interrogation room. We had to leave behind our entourage as only three of us, plus my leg, could fit comfortably. There had been protests, but Romanov just smiled at them smugly.

Down another hall, more impressive and much wider than downstairs, and around corners, we encountered a few people, dressed in grey and black long sleeved jumpers that matched the one they had given me.

We got a few curious glances, but they all seemed to trust the two escorting me. A wall embedded with large windows into another room, loomed. I craned my necked around to look through.

And I got the shock of my life. There were more windows in the room that showed a view of bright blue sky and wipsy clouds. We were above ground and very high up. The room was filled with technology I had never seen before. See-through computer screens hung from the ceiling. Two men stood using them as touch-screens. One I recognized, Tony Stark, the other I didn't.

I did a double take. Tony Stark? Here?

The window ended abruptly obscuring my curious view. But then suddenly we were walking through the doorway to the lab.

"Woah!" Mr. Stark barked, peering through the screen at us. "Wide load, coming through. Don't hit anything. Are you even licensed to drive, old Mr. Rogers?"

I felt Steve tense up. Testosterone boiled up under his skin, beefing his chest up like a bro. Romanov sighed and gave me a look. I guessed this happened often.

"It might be a beautiful day in the neighborhood, but you should to keep your puppets at home. People might talk. At least keep them out of my lab," he said, touching the corner of his screen. Data swept across the room. I was the puppet.

"Your lab?" Steve challenged.

"Fine. Bruce can share. You can't." The small man I assumed was Bruce stood quietly by, eying me curiously behind his thin wire glasses. His gazed lingered on my leg, jutting out stupidly and kind of painfully.

"She can use the staff." Romanov explained, moving towards the back of the room.

That's when I noticed the staff, glowing on a table at the far end of the room. They had it on display like a prize gun or sword. I did not want to get any closer. My heart started to pound.

It was real. It was proof of that night. It had happened. I definitely had killed Luke.

All hope left me. I was the bad guy after all.

"Who is... hey, aren't you that other rich guy's spawn? What's his name? Jefferson? Obama? Eisenhower?"

"Eisen." I said, my gazed held by the staff. "Walter Eisen."

"That's right. My father- "

"You know how the staff works?" The other guy, Bruce, interjected suddenly.

"Not really. " I said. I was going to throw up. I did not want anything to do with the staff.

"Dr. Banner." He held out his hand and I slipped mine into it.

"Siri Eisen."

"Tony Stark." Tony said stuck his hand out over our interlocked hands.

"I know."

"Well, of course you do. Everyone should. I'm only Iron Man." He said, straight-faced, then turned to Romanov. "What's her super power? Weapon knowledge? Seducing old men into carrying her about like Cleopatra?" I nearly groaned as bile rose in my throat.

"You insult a lady?" Steve threw at him, pulling me closer to his chest. Not good. Don't do that.

I sinserly hoped I wasn't going to throw up on Steve.

"I insult a lot of ladies. They like it. Am I right?" Mr. Stark winked at me. "Wait? How old are you? I'm no creep. Not into it. Never mind, then. I can't stand invalids in bed, anyway."

My jaw ached. I was seriously going to hurl.

"Are you alright?" Dr. Banner peered at me strangely. I shook my head, holding back a dry heave with all my strength. The other agents finally caught up with us, spilling into the already crammed lab.

"Hey, look, it's a party. Did you bring the scotch, Phill?"

"Tony!" Romanov interrupted, exasperated.

"No? That's fine. I have my little flask here somewhere." He patted his jean pockets. How did anyone get him to ever shut up?

"Like I said, she can show us how to use Loki's staff." Romanov nearly yelled. It took Tony Stark to make her loose her temper.

I swallowed and breathed deeply through my nose. I did not want to touch that weapon.

"We tried everything." Romanov said. "Nothing worked."

"Show us how it works, Siri." Dr. Banner stepped aside, clearing the path to the Loki's staff. If I could have walked, I would have run in the opposite direction.

"Are we using the mystical weapon of mass destruction now? Is that what phase two is?" Tony was ignored.

"It's ok." Steve said down at me, finally noticing my state. "Is this another panic attack?" he asked. I hoped not. I was already exhausted from the last one.

Not two in one day, please god.

"Panic attack?" Dr. Banner asked, looking at me in the eye. His expression read concern. I looked away in shame, anywhere but the staff. I couldn't face it. The lowest part of my young life stared at me, unforgiving, from its perch on the table.

"You should have seen her half an hour ago." Steve said, spilling my embarrassing condition to everyone in the room. "I thought she was having a heart attack or something."

"She's fine." Romaov walked around Steve, to face me. "Look at me," she demanded. I did. She was scary. "This is your chance. Show me you aren't Loki's."

"You want to put the weapon back in her hands?" An agent protested angrily.

"She's not a threat."

"She is a liability."

"Are you going to prove yourself? Whose side are you on?" she said to me, ignoring the agents.

"Director Fury will hear about this."

"Directory Fury trusts me. Well, Siri? Last chance. This is it. Go back to Loki or show us how to work his weapon."

"Ok." I gasped at her. "Ok I'll do it." I looked up at Steve. He took the couple of steps to the table.

The staff and I locked eyes. I stared into the strange light it emitted. I felt my breathing level out as I reached. It pulled me towards it in an invisible embrace, comforting me with the promise of control over my life, over anything. It didn't matter, then that I had taken life with it. Nothing mattered.

"Put me down."

"I don't think that's a good idea." Dr. Banner advised quietly. "Your leg."

"Put me down." Slowly, Steve lowered me and blood rushed, hot and painful down my bad leg. I clutched at his arms and balanced on my good foot easily, my bad leg propped like a kick stand on a bicycle.

I picked up the staff. It was heavy and familiar in my fingers.

"What do you want me to do?" I asked Romanov.

"Shoot something."

Several voices called out in protest at the same time. The Agents got angrier, like a swarm of bees.

"That window." She pointed to a window behind me. On the other side was a large hanger filled with airplanes. On the far side of the hanger were the windows that led to the outside world.

"That's enough!" an agent yelled stepping forward. Agent Romanov punched him in the jaw and he dropped. Nine others replaced him instantly.

A flash of light burned across my eyes and the window shattered in a shriek of broken glass.

**Oh! Man! The plot thickens. Like stew. Tasty tasty stew. Next up, my personal favorite Avenger, Bruce Banner.**


	4. Detained

**Ugh. This Chapter was so ornery. And I am still not happy with it. Ah well. We can't have good days everyday. I think it is because I just am getting impatient. I can't wait for the plot twist. Can you guess it? I have left a few hints. Ten points to anyone that can point it out!**

**Thank you, WolfDarkfur, for your review! Hopefully this chapter is a bit stronger, but I seriously doubt it. haha.**

**Feel free to leave your thoughts, opinions, comments, suggestions. Anything.**

**-Coy**

* * *

Remembered

_Chapter Four: Detained_

I was the last one standing in the room. A familiar feeling, like a crazy high I couldn't quite remember, came back like bad dinner. I slowly realized that the staff was causing it.

It was alive. And it sang to me a song of comfort, power and security I had never experienced in my life. It bid me never let my fingers unfurl, never ever let it go. My eyes ran over the smooth material, alien and beautiful and I basked in the vibrations it emitted. My arm quivered up to my shoulder.

The world spun madly, orbiting the staff and me. We stood still, the only things on earth that mattered. I was plastered to my spot, but happy to be there. Words and people and reality blew around about my conscious mind. What they were yelling at me didn't matter and I couldn't hear it anyway. What they pointed at me, guns, fists, threats, whatever, couldn't even compare to what I had in the palm of my hand.

It was very similar to that night in Germany, but this time I had no remorse, no sorrow. I stood reeling in my convoluted high. I was the staff's and it was mine. I could tell it anything, and like a lover it would do anything for me in a heartbeat. It was my lifeboat, rescuing me from drowning in my shitty life. I was happy, truly blissful and content, for the first time since I was a child. All of my anxiety melted off like snow. I would never have another panic attack. The staff would breathe for me. And keep me safe.

A word tickled my ear, a whisper: "Siri." It was Romanov. All of her beauty and strength could never match the staff's. "You don't have to do this. Put it down. You did well; you proved yourself. Put it down."

I proved nothing. Here I was in the same place as before. The enemy.

I didn't belong here, I thought, not for the first time.

I watched, detachedly, as her fingers curled over my white-knuckle grip. She pried them open. With every inch of my flesh that peeled away, the seduction and power of the staff slipped out like a knife from my gut, until I was left alone, again, scared and helpless. A mortal, and a weak, cowardly one at that. I collapsed into arms.

"Shhh." Someone brushed hair off my hot face. The world stopped spinning. Real noises, a jumbled of arguments and orders, flooded over me. "Shhhh." I was crying. Again. Making a scene in the middle of hostile strangers.

But the hole left in my soul, made by all that comfort, security and power, really really hurt. I was just a speck of dirt under the fingernail of humanity.

I leaned, sobbing on Romanov, all shreds of pride stripped away. I wept for Luke and his boyfriend. I wept for myself and what I'd done, and for the pain of letting go of control, and for the fact that it had seduced me in the first place, and for my leg and my lost dream of being a ballerina.

I cried when Steve picked me up off my bad leg. I cried because I was mad at being myself, being at this juncture of my life, because I chose Germany over Australia. I cried because Loki made me kill a human being and I was to blame, not him. A human being.

I cried from embarrassment, because no matter how hard I tried to control myself I continued to break apart over and over. I cried because I couldn't stop crying and I couldn't stop living. I cried for home and for my mother and the stupid chickens with their stupid chicken politics.

I cried in the elevator, while Steve talked to me, down the hall, around all the corners. I cried because he wouldn't shut up and leave me alone.

And then I cried because he left me alone in my tiny prison with my tiny bed, the lock clicking into place like the cock of a gun.

I was alone for a long time. My prison was small. I could see almost all of it from my bed. Just four metal walls that hummed slightly, a security camera, a folding chair, a door and my bed. I had nothing to distract me.

I had slept for a while, fitfully. I had nightmares and woke up in a sweat. My jumpsuit was hot, but it was much better than being cold. I was left with my thoughts, which was uncomfortable. They bounced around from dance, and worrying about my career, to home and my mother. I missed my neurotic dog, Pogo. He did this thing where he would stick his butt in the air and covered his nose and eyes to get attention. When I got home, I wouldn't put him down, ever.

I thought about Luke and my one day with him. And then inevitably about that night. And then Loki. Who did he think I was? Gersemi.

That's what he called me. He was so sure of himself. I wondered about S.H.I.E.L.D. and Director Fury. Would they ever let me go? Did I deserve to be let go?

No. Not really.

I hadn't seen my babysitter agent since the lab 'accident.' Why had Agent Romanov been so friendly? Steve Rodgers, too. Mr. Muscles. Captain America, he called himself. What a loony toon. He was nice though.

My mind switched rapidly through these thoughts, like I was surfing channels. I avoided my guilt, though. Skipping that channel as fast as possible.

How long I had been in my room?

I needed to use the bathroom soon. I didn't want to deal with my babysitter, though. She was so severe. I jumped violently when the door opened.

"Hey." Dr. Bruce Banner peeked his head around the door. "Can I come in?" I gaped at him. No one asked to enter prison. I pushed myself up onto my elbows, then hands, dragging my bad leg into a sitting position.

"Sure." Finally, a distraction. "Thanks. I brought lunch." He did, indeed, a tray laden with a sandwich, an apple and bottled water. My mouth immediately salivated. I was starving. A girl could only live off of protein bars for so long. He put the tray on my lap, when I was situated, leaning against the cool steel of the wall behind. The bread was thick cut, wheat; the peanut butter let off a smell so delicious that my stomach rumbled boisterously.

Dr. Banner smiled crookedly. "Aren't they feeding you?" he joked.

"Um." Was all I could get in before my mouth was full of the best pb&j I had ever experienced.

"Aren't they?" his tone changed to something darker, and he looked pointedly, over his shoulder at the security camera corner.

"They are." I said around the sticky peanut butter and jammed another mouthful in, savoring the texture of fluffy fresh bread. He pulled the only chair in the room closer to sit opposite me.

He watched me eat for a moment. I blushed. It was rude to eat like a dying alley cat. The sandwich was already almost gone. I brushed jelly off my mouth, looked for half a second for a napkin and then decided to suck the remaining morsels of flavor off my fingertips.

"Sorry." I wasn't.

"Don't be. You were hungry."

"Yeah."

"Besides that, how are you feeling?"

"Uh. Good?" I hadn't had any visitors come to just visit. This guy was quickly becoming my favorite person, with the food and all. Asking me how I was.

"The leg?"

Oh. That. "It hurts." My words were guarded. It wasn't a subject I loved to think about for long.

"That's to be expected. And your head?"

I touched the back of my skull. There was a small goose egg where I fell on it, when my leg was broken. "Fine."

"Do you mind if I..." He pointed to my head. Right. Doctor Banner. I guess he wasn't here to chat.

"Oh. No." I leaned forward and he stood up. I winced as his fingers brushed my hair out of the way of his view.

"Tender?"

"Yep." Obviously. I twisted the cap off my water. After a moment, he sat back down.

"It doesn't look too bad. I think you'll live," he said smiling again. I studded the label of my water, avoiding eye contact. I didn't deserve to. He sighed and leaved forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I came here to check on you. I was alarmed by the scene in the lab.

I am worried about how you are coping with all of this."

Oh great. Isn't that cute.

"Why would the guy keeping me prisoner be worried about how I am coping?"

"You aren't my prisoner."

"No? Is the door locked?"

"Well- "

"That's what I thought."

"Director Fury said you are free to move about the ship. If you can get around. As long as you don't seek out Loki or enter the bridge or touch the staff again."

"The ship?" That was news.

"We are on a flying aircraft carrier. Helicarrier." How weird. It would explain the humming in the walls. It was engines. I tried to envision myself in the sky. It was hard after thinking about being attached to the ground for so long.

"So. How are you coping?"

I laughed.

"That good, huh?"

"Why do you care?" And I was back to mad, again. I was going to give myself whiplash.

"I want to help you."

"Then tell me what is going on. Let me go home. Give me my leg back." I demanded sarcastically.

"I want to help you, Siri, I do." I watched his eyes watching mine. There was honesty, and plain written concern in them. And something else, almost hidden, just under the surface. A secret? Tragedy? Even if he was just a doctor, I couldn't help but like him.

"How?"

"Talk to me."

"Okay." I responded automatically, regretting it immediately. I didn't want to.

"I only did one psych rotation, but I do know that talking can really help." He sat back, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Okay." I picked up my apple, looking for the best place to start.

"Okay." He repeated. "I guess we'll start with your family." I waited. "What about them?"

"Do your parents have a history of mental illnesses?"

"What?" That was rude. And kind of funny. It reminded me of a ridiculously stupid pick up line I'd heard once. Did he really expect me to open up and spill my heart and soul after asking that? He shifted in his seat, realizing how his question sounded.

"Do you really want to know how I am trying to help you?" He asked suddenly.

"Yes." Real answers? "Yes, please." I added.

"I think if I can diagnose you with some kind of mental illness, it will give S.H.I.E.L.D. an excuse to let you leave. You will be let off. An alibi."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I'm not crazy."

"You sure looked it, back there." I knew what he meant.

"Fuck you."

"You don't think so? Everyone who has talked to you has said you were volatile."

"They broke my leg! They are holding me here, won't tell me anything. They wont even tell me what happened to my leg or what iseven wrong with it. Did they expect me to thank them? And that's not even touching on the subject of Loki. He framed me!"

"Loki has certain abilities. Trust worthy people have been compromised. Agents. He does something to their minds. Director Fury understands that you were under the influence of Loki. It would totally understandable if you had been-"

"He didn't touch me." That was kind of lie. Loki had touched me. I shuddered at that memory. But if anything, it was the staff that confused me. In a nice way. It was like a drug. Banner's eyes traced my body language and I wondered if he caught my lie. Or what he thought I was lying about.

"Fine. What about your parents? Any history?"

"Don't know. I'm adopted." Judging from the amount of times I was asked about my birth parents, I should start wearing a sign that says, "adopted."

"Tell me about your panic attacks." I bit the inside of my cheek.

"I get them sometimes."

"I gather. Do you take any medications for it?"

"No. My mom doesn't believe in inorganic products. And I guess I just took after her. She gave me homeopathic stuff growing up. And vitamins."

"Do they help?"

"I don't know. I don't take them on a regular basis."

"How often do you get them?"

"The vitamins or the anxiety?"

"Panic attacks."

"Um once or twice a month. Maybe." I lot more than that if it's a bad month, I didn't add.

"What are they like? What happens?"

"Like... drowning. Kind of. I forget how to breathe. And my rib cage feels like it's collapsing in, imploding, squeezing all my organs. I can usually talk myself out of them though."

"Is there a trigger?"

"Not really. I just start to feel really out of control."

I watched as his face transformed from detached doctor asking questions to a miserable man. His forehead wrinkled in thought and his eyes glazed over. He aged at least ten years under the weight of what he was thinking about. Suddenly I needed to know him. I had to know his story, and reason it looked like he was falling apart inside as much as me.

"I know how it feels to loose control," he said finally. I looked down at the apple, nested in my hands, selfishly glad this wasn't about me anymore.

"It's bad," I prompted, wanting to hear more.

"Yes." His hands pricked his glasses off and rubbed his eyes.

"What happened to you?" My question rolled out of my mouth before I could stop it and I instantly wished I could take it back.

"I get angry." He polished the lenses on the hem of his untucked shirt.

"Oh."

"I loose it. And a part of me takes over, turns into a monster."

"Me too." That was just how I felt.

"No. I actually turn into a monster." He mumbled, slipping the glasses back into place. He blinked at me. I snickered.

"What? Like a werewolf?"

"Like a Hulk." His mouth twitched in a half smile.

"A Hulk?"

"Big green angry indestructible monster-man who runs rampant, smashing everything in sight."

I just stared at him. Despite his smile, I didn't think he was kidding.

"For real?" I was breathless.

"For real."

"Just anytime? You could just explode at any moment?" I wasn't scared. I was empathizing. "The other guy hasn't come out in a while. I manage my stress. Which is the point of me telling you all this. I want to help you manage your stress so that you get fewer panic attacks. I know what's it like to be there."

"Do you ever, like, kill people?" I did. I wondered, belatedly, if that question would make him mad.

"Yes." No anger in his eyes. Just sadness mixed with regret. He had it really managed.

"I did too." I whispered, feeling shaky.

"I know."

"How do you live?"

"I forgive myself."

"How?"

"I have to forgive myself every day. And I help people. It makes me feel better, like if I can save enough people, somehow it balances out what the other guy did." His hands rubbed each other, a nervous habit. I thought about that. Would I ever be able to forgive myself for killing Luke?

"I can't." No way.

"It takes time. And it helps when you have support."

"Do you?"

"No. I'm too dangerous." His lips pressed together tightly.

"I am, too."

"No." He leaned forward suddenly, a fierce look on his face. "You are good. You can learn to manage yourself. Soften your heart, swallow your pride, and let people help you. Let me help you."

"I don't know how." I whispered.

"Just do it." He watched me shake at the thought. He leaned back again. "And get a prescription for some anti-anxiety medication. If I were licensed, I would do it, but I've been out of the country for a while."

"Is that what you are going to tell them?"

"Who?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D.? Director Fury? That I am..." I searched for a second, "...mentally compromised?"

"It would give you a great alibi."

"What else would you tell them?"

"An eating disorder, maybe."

"What!"

"You look to be way under a normal BMI."

"I dance!"

"You should eat, too."

"I do! You just saw me scarf down that sandwich."

He crossed his arms and his eyebrows rose. I took a huge bite of my apple, too. It was so delicious. Probably the best apple I had ever had in my life. I jammed my teeth back into the fruit.

"We'll see." Is all he said, but a smile returned to his face. I liked it.

When he paused for a moment, I worked on my apple, feeling much better. Maybe all I needed was food. Or someone to understand me. He stood and shoved his hands into the pockets of his khakis. I swallowed my apple bite, and my pride. "Dr. Banner?" He looked back at me over the rims of his glasses.

"Thanks. For the food. And the talk." His smile widened. He came close and to my complete surprise, he gave me a light hug around my shoulders. It felt so good to be touched by someone who wasn't hauling me around or restraining me.

"You'll be ok."

* * *

_Sauté, step sauté chat, sauté chat, sauté passé, balancé and balanc_é_ en tournant, sauté passé, grand waltz, and double attitude turn turn, chassé tour jeté, and grand jeté into the wings…_

Someone cleared his throat. My eyes shot open, my arms frozen in second arabesque and my face lifted into the imaginary warmth of stage lights. Stravinsky's Firebird music faded into the humming of the wall beside my bed.

"How long have you-" I hadn't even hear Steve open the door. I had been daydreaming about flying across the stage, escaping my prison for a little.

He flashed a shy smile. I gulped down my annoyance. Dr. Banner's words were fresh in my mind. He seemed to think I would make it out of this mess alive. That was a game changer and my new tactic was to comply. I would be on my best behavior.

Or Should I act crazy?

Oh, never mind, I'd already done that without trying. Right.

"I was just, uh, marking," I told him as he stood there waiting for me to say something.

"Marking what?"

"A ballet combination."

"Dance." He sighed. He was in a mood today. I could see it in the tension in his shoulders and jaw. And it turned out he didn't like dance.

"Have you tried it?" I asked, trying to pull him out of his dark place. I didn't want to be dragged down with him.

"Uh, not ballet." He clarified. I figured. "But I dance."

He would be the best pas de duex partner with muscles like that. I imaged myself in a lift, securely balanced over his head, elated. And then laughed.

Too late, I realized it looked like I was laughing at him.

He scowled. "I can dance."

"What kind?"

"Swing. My mother made me take classes with her because my father refused to go." My face lit up. I loved Swing. "I don't do it anymore. Or I haven't. I am not even sure if the music is still around." His eyebrows hiked up, creasing his forehead.

"What do you mean?"

"Frank Sinatra was the guy in my day. You know, jazz? Count Baise?"

"In your day?" He couldn't be that much older than me.

I guess I look young; I get carded when I see R rated movies.

"The forties."

I had nothing to say to that. The nineteen forties? He watched my confusion and then took a step back in surprise.

"Wait. You don't know "

"Know what?"

"Who I am."

"Should I?" I examined his face closer, squinted my eyes. Nothing. I had never seen him before. "Are you on the news?" He kind of looked like some anchor man maybe.

His chest inflated in the classic bro stance that was so cheesy. "I'm Captain America."

I laughed. Oh right! He called himself Captain America.

He put his fists on his hips and raised his chin. "Steve Rodgers?" he said. "Captain Rodgers? You have never heard of me?"

I laughed harder. He had to be an actor or something. He didn't break character for a second.

"Okay, Captain America."

"Really! I am. I have the suit." I wasn't improving his mood. I could tell. But something about him coming to visit made me lighthearted.

"Okay." I said grinning. "Halloween is in October. It's only... " I trailed off, distracted by the thought of time. I had no idea how long I'd been here.

He deflated, sighing. "Never mind. I used to be someone famous in the forties."

"Yeah I know who Captain America is. The super solider from the forties. Had comic books and trading cards and action figures and stuff. My step dad has this collection in the garage " His face had fallen to something like misery.

"What?" I couldn't help teasing him.

"I just can't get used to it." He ran his hands through his hair, looking away.

"Get used to what?"

"How long it's been."

"Since "

"The war, the crash."

This had to be another Captain America joke. I kept a straight face and did the math quickly.

"Seventy years?" I prompted, trying to be serious and play along.

"Seventy years. It seems like just yesterday I was promising her... " He stopped, shook himself out of it and gave a little smile.

"You're good." I said smiling, too. "You should be an actor, not a dancer. Or solider."

"Excuse me?"

"The whole Captain thing." He looked at me blankly. He definitely was committed.

He clasped his hands behind his back, his face stony.

I had pushed all his buttons, I guess. I wiped the smile off my face. "Sorry."

"No apology needed. I understand it is hard to take all this in."

"Yeah." Understatement of the year.

The door opened again. Agent Findar strode in, tight hair and frown."Captain, they need you on the bridge." She said, not looking at me.

Steve stiffened, saluted her, and then waved at me with a small smile.

"Bye..." he left. It was just the agent and me.

"I am taking you to Director Fury."

I was stunned. I thought Directory Fury would never talk to me. Just make life changing decisions for me without actually meeting me. Now that my wish had been granted, I didn't know if I wanted to face him, whoever he was.

"Now?" I asked.

"Now."

"Okay." I said meekly. This was it. I was finally going to meet the wizard of oz.

Then there was the problem of how to get me there. Steve had left. She was strong, but not strong enough to carry me. She stood me up and had me lean on her. We hobbled to the door. I was sweating by the time we were out of the room.

I really couldn't ignore my bladder anymore. I could either hold it and probably burst, or ask her to stop by a bathroom on the way. I couldn't hold it any longer.

"Can I," I started. Her already grumpy face turned into a full scowl. I swallowed and continued. "Can I use a restroom?" She huffed and then nodded.

We trudged slowly down the hall. She refused to look me in the face. I guess she had lost a bet and got stuck with me. It was hard not to scowl back, even though she was doing me the favor.

I grunted with the effort. My good ankle was killing me and the strange metallic cast was really heavy. We were only a few yards away from my room. I didn't know how I was going to make it the rest of the way. I wiped at my face, breathing hard. And here I thought I was in good shape. I watched her check her watch.

God, what was her problem?

We eventually made it to a bathroom. It was a single toilet in a small room, with tiny stand up shower and a sink. No mirror. She steadied me; I unzipped the jumpsuit, and then she lowered me down. I was blushing furiously.

Was there no end to the embarrassment?

Her mean mug didn't falter as she left me to it. She was seriously going to wrinkle early.

After a few moments I heard voices out side of the door. I zipped myself back up, unsteadily. It had been a while since the last shot of pain killer. How long had it been?

I couldn't make sense of time. Dr. Banner had said lunch, but it felt like it should have been breakfast. And that was a while ago. I didn't know if I had slept a really long time and it had been like two days, or if I had just taken a nap and it was still the same day.

"Ready!" I called out, tottered to the door and struggled to pull it open without any traction. My leg was starting protest loudly.

"... take it from here, Agent." I heard a male voice through the crack in the door, before I lost my grip. The door closed again. And then opened from the other side. Agent Coulson's face appeared, smiling disarmingly.

"Good afternoon, Siri."

"Afternoon?"

"Approximately 3pm."

"Oh." But what day?

"I will carry you the rest of the way, if you don't mind." I looked him over. He didn't look strong enough. He was like forty and kind of skinny. He saw my trepidation. "I got you." He swung my arm around his shoulders and bent to lift me. And then I was up. He was hiding a lot of muscle under his black suit. I was face to face with his name tag. Agent Coulson. Level 7. I wondered how many levels there were in S.H.I.E.L.D. He seemed pretty high up. He had a good picture. And a kind face.

"Hungry?" he asked. I was. But thirst was now priority since I had used the bathroom.

"Yes."

"Good. We are meeting Director Fury in the mess hall."

I squirmed.

**There was just no great ending to this chapter. But stay tuned! Excitement on the way!**

**As always, thank you for reading! And let me know how bad it was! Or if I am just crazy.  
**


	5. Crocodile Tears

**Welcome Back! I admit this has taken some time getting traction, but the pace is picking up from here on out. Hold on to your hats, folks!**

**Thank you to my first two reviewers, Dark Moons and Whispered Words, and WolfDarkfur! Your encouragement is wonderful!**

**Y'all know I don't own any of this, right? Okay. Just checking.  
**

**Enjoy, and please let me know if you like it, hate it, don't care about it...anything.  
**

**-Coy  
**

* * *

Remembered

_Chapter Five: Crocodile Tears_

I couldn't believe my eyes. Long, thin slices of tender steak curved gently to the side of a fluffy baked potato. A gorgeous, steaming, potato sliced down the middle, gutted, and loaded with sour cream and chives, it looked like. And asparagus. Even the asparagus, which I would usually disregard with revulsion, those stringy, weird smelling, and flaccid greens, looked like they were straight from the kitchens of heaven.

I smelled garlic and almost drooled.

After protein bars and an admittedly tasty sandwich, I had not expected anything like this for dinner. Best case scenario, in my mind, as we made our way to the mess hall, was spaghetti. But this, this was so hard to believe.

"Please tell me you aren't one of those vegetarians."

I tore my eyes from the gourmet steak dinner and remembered why I was here. Director Fury was finally getting around to meeting the girl he was keeping prisoner. I guess I didn't know what to expect, but a big black bald guy with a mean scar and an eye patch was definitely nothing I would have imagined in my wildest dreams. Maybe I wasn't very imaginative. Director Fury had his fork and steak knife in hands, his forearms rested on the edge of the metal tabletop.

"Because I had that steak cooked 'specially for you. And if you don't eat it, you are more wasteful than I had ever imagined."

I shook my head. Did he just call me wasteful?

"Eat, then. And we'll have a chat."

Unable to help myself, I glanced up at Agent Coulson, who stood behind me with his hands clasped behind his back. He smiled down at me in encouragement.

"Don't look at him. I'm in charge here. Why is everyone havin' a hard time remembering that today?"

"Sir?" Coulson's eye brows rose.

"You try gettin' Stark, Rodgers and Thor to play nicely." Director Fury said to me, as if I knew what he was talking about. "In fact, just try puttin' them in the same room. They just don't work together. Their worlds clash." He stabbed his fork into the steak and cut himself a bite.

"They'll come through, Sir. You'll see." Agent Coulson said over the top of my head.

"Yes. We will see." Fury put the morsel in his mouth and chewed. He watched my face. I tried to feel, from the inside, what it looked like to him. My eyes were wide, my forehead creased in confusion. I probably looked like I didn't understand English. "Speaking of which," he continued, looking over my head to Coulson. "See what progress we are makin'. And find out what Stark is up to. There were reports of a virus. It's always Stark." He sighed.

"Yes Sir." Without further ado, Agent Coulson turned and made his way back down an isle of tables, turned the corner and was out of view.

"What? Too rare?" Directory Fury asked me. We were alone now, secluded and out of earshot of any of his employees, who sat at least four tables away from us in every direction.

"N-no. Thank you." I spat out, picking up my utensils. Where to begin?

"I hope you've found yourself comfortable."

I didn't reply. No. I really hadn't been comfortable. My leg was broken. I'd been left alone in a tiny room for hours at a time. I had been held prisoner, interrogated and ignored. None of my questions had been answered. And all I'd been fed was protein for God knows how long.

Instead of responding, I dug my fork into the potato. A noise distracted me. I looked up to see Director Fury chuckling at me with a wide grin.

He was making fun of me. I scowled.

"No? Apologies." He finished his laugh and took another bite, shaking his head.

I had no idea how to respond. I put lump of potato in my mouth mechanically and mulled over his mood. He was treating me not as a dangerous ally of Loki, not as lunatic or even a damsel in distress. It was if I was a child. No, worse, an adolescent.

I chewed without tasting. He wanted a sulky teen? Fine. I could sulk. And who was in the wrong here? I was the victim! Sort of.

I guess I was also the bad guy.

I sighed.

Who was I, anyway?

I had a hard time not just scarfing down the entire plate. All of this amazing food going to waste because I was too mad and hungry to taste it.

"I'm sure you have questions." He said after a few minutes of silent eating. I did have questions. Suddenly, though, I couldn't think of any.

"You are a loud one, aren't you?" he said dryly. "Quiet down over there."

I swallowed.

"Fine then. Imma tell you how it's gonna be." I stopped moving, my fork half way to my mouth. Was this where I was told I could go home? Or told I was going to prison for the rest of my life?

Director Fury put his utensil down, crossing the fork over the knife delicately to the side of his finished plate. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest.

"I will cut right too it; I don't like bullshit. You are either crazy, pathetic or evil."

My mouth dropped open.

"Loki, king of evil, has only opened his mouth to talk about one thing. He's been tellin' stories. He gives you all the credit for that little shenanigan in Germany. For civilian victims. He's been spouting crazy-ass theories about you and that staff. No, let me finish."

I hadn't even realized that I had started to say something in my defense.

"I think he's pullin' a briar rabbit on us. Seeing as he is known as The Trickster and a liar. If the only thing comin' out of his mouth is directin' blame away from himself, I'm not paying money for it. I just can't bring myself to believe a twenty something ballerina with anxiety from Aspen, Colorado, is the long lost daughter of Odin, and in cahoots with her long lost evil friend. So evil is out."

I was having a hard time understanding any of this. Maybe I didn't speak English after all.

"Banner tried getting' believe that your anxiety made you do it. He suggested that maybe you aren't all there." Fury tapped his index finger to his temple.

"I've seen anxiety. It doesn't prove to be a huge motivator for murder. Unless, of course you are a giant green rage monster, like Banner. You have answered all of our questions somewhat sanely. You don't seem scrambled in the brain pan. Just...scared. So the crazy theory is out, too."

I felt my heart sinking like the Titanic, slowly, painfully, and into glacial waters. This was too much for me. It was like watching myself getting opened up in surgery, and picked apart, piece by piece.

"Which brings me to pathetic. That night, in Germany...what were you thinkin'?"

He didn't pause for me to answer. Good thing, too, because I had lost track of my mouth.

"You didn't run from the danger. You didn't fight for your life, or your friend's or any stranger's. The best I can come up with is that you were waitin' for someone to come and save you. You just couldn't care enough to get up off your ass and do somethin' about your situation. You stood by as Loki tortured and killed, just waitin' for a knight in shinin' armor to ride up and whisk you away. You even had the staff. In your hands. Why didn't you use it against Loki? Why didn't you blow him to Timbuktu?"

Water dripped off my face and down my neck. I wiped at it. Tears.

He paused. Maybe now he wanted an answer. Were these questions rhetorical?

He seemed to need an answer. So did I. "I don't know," I whispered through my tears.

"I'll tell you. You're pathetic."

A sob escaped my throat. I buried my forehead into my hands, wishing I could block out his words.

"You wanna know why you didn't fight back? It's because you're pathetic. You have nothin' to fight for. Nothin' to believe in. Nothin' to work for. Life has been handed to you on a silver platter. All you do is dance, eat, sleep. Shop. Your life is purposeless. There is nothin' special about you. You are just an ordinary girl. Plain Jane."

I tried to swing my leg off the chair it was propped up on. I was going to run even if I had to crawl. He reached across the table and grabbed my wrist tightly.

"No. Stay."

I looked around for help, wiping my blurry eyes. The mess hall was mostly empty now. A few stragglers pretended not to watch. Pushed food around on their plates. Checked their watches.

"I am not telling you this to be cruel." Fury continued. The tone of his voice didn't change. It was if he was talking about the weather.

"I want to you see somethin'. Step a moment into someone else's shoes. From my viewpoint, Plain Jane is sittin' here, in a flying aircraft carrier, the only on in the world, with technology you will probably never understand. Heck some of it I still don't get. You are eating steak with the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D, top secret agency. Top-est of tops. On this helicarrier you will find the most remarkable people in this world, and the next. I'm talkin' gods, and super heroes, scientific miracles and monsters. The most brilliant of minds. You. Not the President, not your friend, not some homeless guy on the street. You, Siri Eisen."

"You were at the wrong place at the right time. But you were meant to be there. Everythin' happens for a reason. Do you hear me? You are here for a reason. Now."

My crying had stopped. I was vaguely amazed that I hadn't had a panic attack yet.

"You are the only person I have found, apart for Loki, that can power that staff. For whatever crazy-ass reason, you Siri, have the power to change the fate of the world. Loki is going to destroy Earth if we do not stop him. You have two options. One, go home. Forget this ever happened. Rehabilitate that leg and hopefully get another five years as a dancer. Then live off your step dad's fortune. Live the life of shallow luxury and adventure, in Aspen."

"Two: pull yourself together. Realize that you aren't the center of the universe, and accept the responsibility of the power granted you. Work for me and I will give you purpose. I will give you something to fight for. Take Loki's staff and use it against him. Avenge Luke and save the world with me."

All I could do was blow my nose into my paper napkin. Fury handed me his clean napkin. I blew my nose again. I wadded up the trash in my hands, resting my forehead on my knuckles. I sniffled.

I heard Director Fury push his plate back and stand. He sighed. "I must be really loosin' my touch. I am usually good at the motivational speeches." I could tell he was trying to make a joke, to lighten up the tension. I wasn't laughing.

"Work with us, or don't." Then Fury left me with the palms of my hands pressed over my eyes.

* * *

I don't know how long I sat there, but no one bothered me.

No one had ever, ever, ever talked to me that way in my life. I felt like the smoldering ruins of a house on fire. The beams holding up my life were charred, crumbled and still smoking. All my possessions, my beliefs, my memories were eaten up and spit out by the flames of that man's words. They were ash. Unrecognizable.

The worst part was that I knew he was right. It was all truth. I had wished for the truth, hadn't I? Well there it was. And it burnt me down so much that I had nothing to hide behind. All of my walls, demolished. In one sitting.

My eyes felt hot and puffy and the skin of my cheeks was tight with dried salt water.

What could I do? What was I supposed to do? What did I want?

I thought that all I wanted to do was go home and forget. I knew now that was impossible. I would never forget. What had he called it? Shallow? A shallow life of luxury. It was true. There was definitely luxury in living with my rich step dad. My memory of home looked fake now, gilded.

I had only felt alive when I danced.

Dance! I couldn't leave that behind!

My throat tightened when I realized, with a glance at my broken leg, that dance had left me behind already.

I couldn't face home. Not with the memory of Luke hanging on, not with my ex boyfriend still flirting with the idea of 'us', not without dance.

Okay. Okay. I could do this.

"Okay." I said out loud, to verify it. My voice was small.

I was going to do it. I was choosing a side and a new life. I was S.H.I.E.L.D. now. I worked for Director Fury.

I had a weapon. A magic weapon. I was, like, a super hero.

I almost laughed at that.

Me and Captain America could save the world.

I did laugh then, but it was cut short when the world shook. A rumble from far off cut over the constant humming of the aircraft, which then dimmed and faltered. I scrambled madly for a hold as the ground dipped suddenly. Chairs and dishes crashed and slid, scraping across the floor. My organs lifted slightly as we dropped, making me want to puke. I clung to the table in front of me as gravity pulled.

We were crashing.

Uniformed agents jumped up, calling out, slipping, and running over each other. A voice came over the P.A.: "All men to their stations. Code 843." A woman announced in a sharp, but not panicked tone. "This is Agent Hill. Code 843. All men to their stations. Hostiles on board."

Hostiles.

I was dumped onto the floor. My leg jarred as it hit, the metal clunking loudly. I gasped and clutched at it, forgetting everything for a split second. The floor tilted further and I slid. More chairs clattered to the floor, but the tables stood fast. I grabbed on of the legs of my table. A chair knocked into me and scooched past slowly. My metal leg dragged heavily, and slipped when I tried to use it despite the pain.

How could Fury leave me helpless? It wasn't like I could walk even when we weren't crashing. The floor leveled out, then, but my insides told me we were still dropping.

"Help!" I called out. "Somebody! I need help!"

My old self was furious to be stuck underneath a table in the mess hall. Not one person had bothered to even look at me as they ran out.

What did it matter anyway? I huffed. I was just as easily dead here as anywhere else on the ship. We were all falling at the same rate. But what about the hostiles?

Who were they? More importantly, where were they? They wouldn't look in here, right? Not in the mess hall. Maybe I was safer here after all. I would just wait here. Wait for...

_"A knight in shining armor to ride up and whisk you away... "_ Director Fury's voice echoed in my head. I blinked fresh tears away. This was me doing what I did best: waiting to be handed something, to be saved.

I wasn't going to be that anymore.

"Do something." I growled at myself, willing my hands to pull me up to sitting and maybe even standing. I would prove him wrong. I would be strong and I would act. I would fight for my life and I would fight for other people's lives.

I pulled hard on the table leg I was clinging to and I dragged myself to a sitting position. Wrapping my fingers around the edge of the table I hauled my body up high enough to get my good leg folded underneath. From there I pressed on the top of the table and used my quad to stand.

I stood, panting. "Ha!" I barked. I did it!

Now what?

The mess hall was completely empty. There were strange popping sounds from far away. Like quiet gun shots. The ship groaned in protest. I was shaking with adrenaline and my metal cast cut into my thigh as I stood on both my legs. I suddenly knew what to do. I was employed by Director Fury to use the staff.

I need to find the lab and get the staff. I wouldn't be helpless then. I could defend myself against hostiles. Even maybe defend other people. I leaned heavily on table tops and hobbled towards the hallway. I cried out when I had to let go of the tables, in the gaps. Shots of pain stabbed me down to my toes. I had to concentrate very hard on each step as to not slip on the metal of the boot.

Come on! You can deal with pain, I coaxed myself. Ballet hurts most of the time. And I love ballet. This wasn't any worse than loosing toenails during Nutcracker season.

I gritted my teeth and made the gap to the next table. And the next. Until I was clinging to the wall and limping through the doorway. I was in the hall before I knew it. I wiped my sweaty hands on the pants of my jumpsuit.

Which way was the lab? I peered down the walls to see if there was some kind of map posted.

Nothing.

Think! I knew we had passed the lab coming to the mess hall. It was on this floor, thank God. I closed my eyes picturing our journey starting from when we stepped out of the elevator.

Left.

I switched off hopping on my good leg and limping along the wall. No one passed me, but the noises got louder the further I went. I could hear yelling. It was definitely gunshots.

I was thrown to the ground without warning. Debris peppered me. A ground shaking thunderous roar vibrated my chest. I coughed the dust out of my lungs and craned my neck up to see a giant green man monster. It wasn't the fact that he had just torn through the wall, not the fact that he was big enough to fill the space of the hallway, not the fact that he was green. It was his face contorted into the most rage-filled expression I had ever witnessed. He was going to kill me.

I screamed. The noise was shrill even to me. My throat burned and my ears hurt but I kept screaming. Gasping for air and then screaming again.

The monster paused at my blasts of sound and looked at me curiously for a second. I stopped. Elation filled me. He was just like a mountain lion or a bear. All I had to do was scare it away.

Then he roared, clenching his huge jade colored fists in front of him, his mouth open wide enough to clamp around my head. It felt like my heart stopped beating.

Another yell interrupted him and another man sprang from the hole the monster had created. This one was big, but still dwarfed by the size of the green man. He had long blonde hair and a red cape. With grunt, he swung a over sized metal hammer and completely knocked the green man through the next wall. I ducked under my arm, protecting my face from the new set of debris.

"Are you injured!" He bellowed at me. I looked up and coughed at him, shaking my head. He drew back as if I spit at him, his eyes wide in shock. "Gersemi?" His voice was much quieter than the previous question. His hammer dropped to his side and he took a step forward.

A colossal green fist punched through the second hole and the cape-clad man was thrown back into the first hole. I scrambled backwards as the monster launched himself after the blond.

Were those the hostiles? Those had to be the hostiles. Only one of them seemed hostile, though. The other looked like a Roman centurion or something. And he called me that stupid name. So maybe he was with Loki and hostile after all.

I had to get the staff.

I painstakingly picked myself up again. I was scared to pass the holes the monster had made in case they came back this way. I took a couple of deep breaths, marveling at the lack of a panic attack and then pushed through my fear. I tripped on the rubble from the wall and went down hard.

My hands were bleeding as I maneuvered back into my one-legged squat. This thigh was going to be enormous. It shook with effort.

There was definitely a fight happening at the end of this hall. So there were more hostiles. The fray got louder. An explosion knocked me down again. I lay there for a second. My will to fight was waning. Why didn't I just lay here and wait...

Nope.

I grunted and rolled myself over and back up. I kept going, further down the hall. It curved around and suddenly I knew where I was. The lab was just a little more forward. But now I could hear voices. Actual yelling. I jumped and gripped the wall as machine gun rang out and then stopped. It was so loud. I whipped my head around to find the shooter. I couldn't see anyone.

My good leg hurt way worse than my bad one now. But I was going to get that staff. I made it to the doorway of the lab only to discover that it had been destroyed. A computer beeped from the corner of the room. A huge hole had been smashed into back wall where there used to be windows overlooking a bigger room, which was apparently where the battle was happening. The table that held the staff was smashed and the weapon was missing.

I leaned against the wall and slid down to sit. I came all this way for nothing. And I was much closer to dying here than in the mess hall. And I was still helpless. And we were still crashing.

I was so tired. I slid my hand over my heart and felt it slow down from sprint mode to rest. I closed my eyes and listened as running foot steps thudded past the lab. More gunfire. A scream. A barked order I couldn't quite make out. Boots jogging down the hall. A roar from the green monster, but far away. The computer still beeped.

I sagged to the side in exhaustion. My cheek pressed against cold, smooth floor and I opened my eyes.

There was the staff! It had rolled out of sight and was resting in the same way I was, in the corner between the wall and the floor, under some broken equipment. The small sphere shone pure and blue, beckoning me over.

With one more burst of energy I sat up. I dragged myself on my butt across the floor over to the staff, my metal leg scraping loudly across the tile. The staff welcomed me sweetly. I pulled it across my lap and ran my fingers lightly over the gold colored metal, tracing the elegant pattern that ran from tip to tail. The tip, a silver blade-like c-curve, encased the blue, important part. The brain. It was beautiful.

"There you are." I looked up to see a stranger dressed in black. Not the black suit that the agents wore, like Coulson. He was a hostile. He pressed a finger to his ear. "Barton, I have her," he said.

I smiled. No, he did not.


	6. God Not This Again

**Oh hey! You're in for a wild ride! Huzzah! **

**Thank you thank you thank you, BunnyMay, for your SUPER encouraging comment! Hope I wasn't too late in posting this next installment. **

**And thank you all for reading!**

**-Coy**

* * *

**Remembered**

**Chapter Six: God. Not This Again.**

"On level thr- " The man crumpled, his eyes rolling back.

I had barely thought it. The staff knew what I wanted. There was no doubt that the hostile was dead because I willed it. This power I could get used to. It was fueling me, even now, as I tried to look away from the whites of the dead man's eyes. Why I would ever put the staff down, I couldn't fathom.

I was ready for the high, but I had forgotten how good it was. My surroundings spun, again, and I loved it. It was a ride I would never get off. The elation of being in control, of lives even, filled me to the brim. I could do anything with the staff. All I had to do was pull through the spinning to think what I should use it for, next.

It was obvious after a second of thought: take out the bad guys.

I was on my feet, wel, my foot and the metal boot, clutching the staff for support before I had time to think about it. I took a step towards the noise of battle. I felt like a weight had been taken off my shoulders. It was painless to put pressure on my legs and walk.

Best walking stick I'd ever found, I joked to myself.

Beep, the computer alterted me from its corner.

I leaned lightly on the staff, both hand wrapped around its body, and peered over the hole in the wall, where large windows had been blown out. It was easy to pick out the hostiles. They wore different uniforms, black and they walked with calm purpose. Almost like robots. They walked into gunfire if it meant gaining more ground. They showed no fear for their own lives, working for the good of the team. As if they knew that they were dispensable. Pawns or drones. Also they were winning.

S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, while obviously trained, were kind of disorganized. The hostiles had them pinned behind wrecked, smoking, airplanes with huge gouges in the wings and bodies. One by one, the agents popped their heads around to shoot at the hostiles, who trod on with dogged determination. It was clear that the queer, inhuman behavior of the hostiles was damaging the calm of the agents.

I picked a rather big clump of hostiles and fired away. Bodies scattered like pins under a bowling ball. None of them got up. Agents gaped about for the source of their saved skins, took heart and put themselves back into the fight. I hit another two hostiles without lifting a finger, beginning to feel smug.

And to think I was so bad at video games that involved taking out enemies.

Without warning, without a blink of an eye, or a waver in the air, I was standing in on plush cream carpeting, in the middle of a living room. The lights were off and the glow from a projection on one wall lit the room with wavering colors. The picture moved as the back of a player's head moved robotically forward into a sort of courtyard. He lifted a gun. The screen shifted to look up into a building window. The view zoomed in to show another player, with a different, bigger gun. A few popping sounds and the second player was splayed down.

"Suck that, bitch-ass! Like a BOSS." I nearly jumped out of my skin.

I turned around to face a lavish and plump couch.

I instantly recognized two people in the shadowy light. The one facing me and the screen, was Gabe. He was starting vacantly at the screen, through me as if he didn't see me at all, rapidly thumbing buttons on the controller. He was sitting on top of a girl, who was lying down, legs spread down the length of the couch. She was facing Gabe, arms crossed watching him play, head resting on a throw pillow. The look on her face was a funny mixture between boredom and exasperation.

It was me and Gabe. I remembered this. I remembered this exact moment from a month ago.

We were sitting his dark living room/man cave. I was wondering, right at that moment a month ago, how long my legs were going to last under his body weight. I had spread out on the couch before him and then he had plopped down on top of me. Then he proceeded to ignore me, completely absorbed by Halo or Call of Duty or some other shooting game.

I looked down at myself. Or the version of myself I was conscious of. I was still wearing the baggy S.H.I.E.L.D. jumpsuit, the metal monster leg still clung to me. The staff was still in my hands, thank God. Maybe it would take me back to the future.

I looked back at the other me and Gabe. They still hadn't seen me. I didn't think they could see me. The light from the projector dangling above their heads shone through me and still cast it's picture on the wall behind me. The images didn't play on my skin. I was dark, like a shadow.

"What, babe." Gabe grunted at the other me on the couch, without looking over.

Other me didn't reply. He noticed me then. Not me, me, but the old me.

"Whaaaaaaaat?" He paused the game, tossed the controller onto a dark leather love seat perpendicular to the couch. "Baaaaabe." He whined at me and then flipped himself over to cover his body with mine, pinning my crossed arms between my chest and his.

He kissed me lightly. "You wanna turn?"

I scoffed.

"Come, on. I'll teach you how to be kick ass." He kissed me again. I was not having it. I kissed him back half-heartedly. I remember thinking, then, how he was smothering me. In more than one way.

I couldn't breathe.

I watched myself start to struggle to get him off me, his athletic, mountain man body was heavy with rugby muscles. I looked like a piece of grass trying to push a foot off of it.

My heart pounded, then, with fear of drowning, of being crushed to death under Gabe. My heart and the other me's heart. I watched as I moved my face to the side to get air. I saw the panic, how my wide eyes looked glassy with tears. I felt them welling up in my own.

My face hit the hard floor and I saw stars. I rolled onto my back, blinking in a blinding glare. It was so bright. The carpet was gone, replaced by white linoleum.

Beep. The computer in the corner chirped.

Gunfire.

I was back in the lab, breathless. It was all happening so fast. I was on the ground, my head pounding. A pair of boots, black pants with all sorts of gadgets strapped on, stood in my line of view. I blinked again, trying to keep up.

I hurt. All over. Especially my leg and my head.

Beep.

Hostile. He had knocked me down. While I was back in the memory he had got me.

I told the staff to kill him.

Nothing happened. My hands were empty. I pushed myself up, searching desperately across the floor.

"Looking for this?"

My eyes trailed up the legs to see the hostile casually hold out the staff with a black-gloved hand, as if he were offering it. His other hand held a bow. Arrows stuck of over the top of his shoulder, held by a strap that ran across his chest. In my dazed state I wondered why he had a bow and arrows.

Lord of the Rings fanatic? Or Hunger Games?

I guess I had no room to talk. I used a staff. Like Gandalf.

I would have laughed if I had it in me, I didn't hurt so much, and there wasn't a man threatening me. His face was cold, his eyes icy blue.

"Come with me," he said simply.

I sat my ground, but started shaking. This was a little too familiar. I was not going to listen to any more strange men with fantasy weapons.

Beep.

"Come with me." He repeated. His tone didn't change. He was neither annoyed or glad to have found me. He seemed to be debating. He only had two hands. One had his weapon, the other withheld mine. He couldn't drag me anywhere unless he put down one.

He tossed the staff to the side, out of my reach. It clattered nosily across the slick floor and then into the hall. He notched an arrow faster than I could see, aiming right into my face.

"I can't!" I blurted out in alarm. "My leg!"

His eyes flickered to the metal stump of a leg that jutted out in front of me, but the arrow didn't waiver.

Beep.

A flash of red caught my eye. Romanov held my gaze as she slid up right behind the hostile. He registered my distraction and spun, letting the arrow loose at Romanov, who ducked out of the line of fire. The arrow clinked into the beeping computer screen, cracking the glass in a spider web pattern.

Beep.

Romanov knocked the bow out of his hands and they fought, shoving each other into walls, kicking, dropping out of the way of a hit, spinning, blocking. Ultimately, forgetting I existed.

I watched, amazed at how they could keep fighting after every blow. Didn't that hurt? Until I realized this was my chance to escape. Or get the staff. Both.

I used my good leg and my hands to scoot around the wreckage. I kept my eyes on the staff, promising it I would be there soon.

Beep.

Before I could get more than a few yards, a hostile ran past the open doorway, skidded to a stop at the sight of the staff lying alone in the middle of the hall.

He took in the scene. I froze.

Beep.

His eyes trailed the fight for a second, moved across the shattered, sparking computer equipment, and then landed on me. His head cocked to the side, peering down the hallway, deliberating.

I glanced back to Romanov for help. She was busy flying through the air, past the broken window, to the hangar below. I was on my own.

He bent, picking up the staff, and then, in two strides, without a word, he closed the distance between us, holstered his gun, and offered his free hand to help me up.

Beep.

I blinked. That was unexpected. I took the hand, eyeing the staff. He pulled me to my feet. I weighed my chances of pulling the staff out of his hands. It wasn't good odds.

"I, uh, thanks." I said.

He didn't reply. Instead he looked at my with his icy blue eyes for a moment and then bent at the waist, wrapped his arm around me and slung me over his shoulder.

"Hey!" I pushed against his back, now upside down in my view, to tip me up, but one of his arms held me firmly against his shoulder. Blood rushed to my face and I grunted with the effort.

"Hey!" I yelled again as he turned to start a brisk pace out of the lab and down the hall. I kicked my good leg wildly, searching for help. The end of the hall way was smoking and there was no one in sight. I bounced against his back as he picked up the pace.

"Stop!" I screeched at him lamely. "Put! Me! Down!" I ordered, pounding his back as hard as I could with each word, my voice jolting with every step he took. His shoulder was digging into my stomach very uncomfortably.

He ignored me, turning a corner, and kicking open a door with a thud. In a moment of genius I grabbed one side of metal doorframe and held on for my life. He jerked to a stop, grunting in surprise. He took a step back and I lost my grip with the unexpected slack.

He door slammed behind us and echoed weirdly in my ears. A red plastic sign was posted on the back of the grey door, reading Level 7, with the universal sign for stairwell, in white, underneath.

"Where are you taking me!" I hollered at him, pushing against his back again, lifting myself up to a sort of plank position, balanced on his shoulder. He silently began to climb.

I tried punching his sides where I thought he would be vulnerable. He tensed but kept going. I wrapped my arms around his head and hauled myself up enough to get it around his neck. I squeezed.

That stopped him. He calmly turned his back against to a wall and rammed me into it.

My head cracked and I went slack with pain. I had to concentrate on my breathing, closing my eyes against the sharp throbbing. It felt like he had got the spot I had hit in Germany. I held my skull, feeling tenderly for blood. It had to be bleeding.

I dangled upside down. I was shrek-d.

His heavy footsteps echoed in the narrow shaft, along with my erratic breathing. I didn't hold back from crying now. Fat, hot tears of frustration rolled up my forehead. All I could concentrate on was my pounding head. It was like someone one was nailing wood to it. The crying didn't help.

We slowed at the top of the stairwell. When he opened the door a huge gust of wind drove us back. He pushed forward into the wind. I arched my back up and twisted around to look. We were out side, under a blue sky. It was freezing despite the shinning sun, and the air was thin. Too thin. The wind roared around us, tossing us around on top of the helicarrier. It whipped my hair around my face, obscuring my view and stinging my cheeks.

I screamed when he stumbled and almost dropped me on my head. The sound was ripped out of my mouth and carried away. He recovered quickly, tossing me back into place over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and bending into the wind. I grabbed at my long, tangled blonde hair, trying to subdue it enough to see around me.

We tipped backwards as the ground inclined and suddenly the howling stopped, my hair settled, and the light dimmed. My kidnapper dumped me unceremoniously and my metal leg clanged loudly on metal floor. I cried out at the resounding pain.

"This how you treat my guest?" A slick, dark voice froze my heart.

Loki eyed my kidnapper from a reclined position on a bench. An engine started up. We were on a small aircraft. The door and ramp we had climbed were still in landing position, but I knew I wouldn't make it. I was spent.

The man stared back with those weird blue eyes. He held out Loki's staff, uncertain. Loki slowly wrapped his fingers around it. He caressed it with his gaze. I knew that look all too well. It was the same look I got when I held the staff.

The plane lifted and the ramp began to retract. Loki's eyes darted back to the man, who stood at attention.

"One drop of her blood is worth all of yours, mongrel."

The man didn't fight back as Loki shoved him out the closing crack in the door. The man screamed as he was sucked out by the wind, and then he was gone. The door shut with a loud hiss and then the only sound was the engine.

I whimpered when Loki looked back to me, still on the metal floor, a sort of grate that was digging harsh lines into the backs of my leg and my butt. Loki watched me panic for a second, and then took a step towards me. I backed away until I felt knobby metal walls against my back. I glanced around, looking for something, anything to help me.

We were alone. There were no windows in this part of the craft. It was what I would imagine as a cargo hold, all industry and no comfort. A red light flashed periodically, lighting Loki's face in an eerie glow, then fading away, leaving us in dusky light.

He stepped closer again, pursing his lips. I searched his eyes for what to expect. I couldn't read his smooth look. No anger, no humor. I held my breath as he crouched in front of me, a foot away.

"What have they done to you?" he murmured, not unkindly. I was confused by the question. Who? The guy that just kidnapped me or S.H.I.E.L.D.? "What could have made you so weak?" He continued.

I bristled. I wasn't weak! Even as I thought it, I knew it was lie. In a burst of passion that was more of defiance than bravery, I struck out at his face. He caught my wrist without blinking, holding it in cold, iron, pinching fingers.

"Don't do that," he told me softly. "You will hurt yourself." He tightened his grip. I yanked at my arm unsuccessfully. He was going to break it. I struggled harder but he was much stronger than he looked, like a statue, unyielding.

He let go and I slapped my own chest. I cradled my arm and rubbed my wrist.

He stood up slowly, grunting quietly with the effort. He leaned heavily on his staff. He was hurt, I marveled. He did look disheveled, the front of his clothing was charred and his hair out of place. I ran my eyes over him, searching for a wound. No blood. But still, if he was hurt, maybe, just maybe I had a chance...

If I could get my hands on the staff.

He caught me looking at the staff and smirked. My eyes flickered to his. He turned and took a seat across from me on a built in bench. He laid the staff across his legs, still smirking.

"I see you have tasted power." He said at last. "It leaves one hungry, does it not? Unlimited supremacy is delicious, I admit."

I didn't reply.

"Can you even fathom what it is?" He said, his voice harsher now.

"A staff." I blurted out sarcastically.

"No." He scoffed. "No. A scepter. A shepard carries a staff, a king a scepter. Do I seem a lowly sheep-herder, to you?" His face darkened.

I shook my head.

"A scepter, Gersemi." He said again, biting the words.

God. Not this again. "Siri." I said under my breath, rebelliously.

"What was that?"

"Siri." I said louder, surprised at my own boldness. "My name is Siri."

He mouth stretched in a tight smile. "You really have no idea, do you? You have no memory?"

He was a lunatic and seriously had me confused with someone. "I am not Gersemi, whoever the fuck she is." I spat at him.

"Language, sister. Such language. If mother could hear you now, sweet 'Semi."

"I am not your sister! I don't have any bothers! I don't know you or your mother! You have the wrong person!"

"No, I do not."

"Yes, do you!"

"Where do you think you come from?"

"_I know_ I come from Aspen, Colorado."

"Your father's name?"

"Stepfather. Walter Eisen."

"Biological father?"

"I-" I swallowed. "I don't know. I was adopted."

"Your father's name is Odin, your mother Frigga. You do have bothers, though one is not the son of Frigga, and the other not a son of Odin. Balder is, however, full brother, and your sister, Hnoss." He watched me with bright eyes.

I could only stare at him. He was a fucking lunatic. Mad as a bicycle. A few eggs short of a cake. I had heard of Odin and Frigga. Mythology. This guy was convinced he was Loki. Like the mythological Loki, son of Odin and Frigga. The Trickster. It all made sense. The outfit, anyway.

If I hadn't been scared I would have laughed at him. He didn't even look Norwegian.

"A story I can tell you, in the last few minutes of our journey. One burnt with political intrigue and vengeance, as the best always are. Two sisters lived in Asgard. Each had a dream to rule over men. Both were very beautiful and used their wiles to scratch their way to the throne. The elder, Amora the Enchantress, tried, at first to seduce Thor. When she was unsuccessful, Lorelei obtained a love potion, a golden mead. If she could get Thor to drink of it, he would bend to her every will, make her queen of Asgard.

"Amora, when hearing of her sister's plot, became jealous and made for herself a vapor, that had similar effects as the potion. Lorelei got to him first, and he drank her potion, naturally falling in love imediatly. Amora ruined everything." Loki actually looked angry at this point.

"Subjecting Thor to the vapors, after he had taken the mead, had the wrong effect. It woke him from the spell, and when he awoke, he was very angry. He banished Lorelei and imprisoned Amora in Asgards prisons. There she rotted, waiting for the opportunity to strike back.

"You earth-dwellers have a saying, I believe. _Hell hath no furry like a woman scorned._ There is truth in it. When Amora had served her time, she was released. At the first opportunity she stole Frigga's youngest, a girl of only three years, to cast Thor's family into mourning. You, Gersemi, were taken. The search was long and hard and spanned a good part of this universe, but neither you nor Amora were found. Until now. Until the night I stumbled upon you, in a mad twist of fate."

He paused then, and ran his hand over the staff.

Excuse me.

Scepter.

I had to hand it to him. He might be absolutely bonkers, but he had a great imagination.

"You look just like Mother," he continued. "The face is unmistakable. And you are the height of an Asgardian. Not tiny, like...humans." He spat the word. He looked back over at me. My face must have been betraying my utter disbelief because he eyes darkened dangerously.

"You do not believe me?" He stood up. "Only a son or daughter of Odin may wield his scepter of power."

My eyebrows dropped from their look of disbelief. That one had me stumped. I was the only one apart from Loki that could make it work.

The scepter. There was nothing on earth more real to me than the scepter.

There was a jolt and the engines whirred down and faded. We had landed. Where had he taken me? And what did he expect of me? To play along as his long-lost alien sister? Help him dominate earth?

Loki steped forward, bent, and held out a long-fingered, pale hand, answering my unspoken question. "Come with me, sweet 'Semi. I will sate your hunger for power."

* * *

**So there it is...dun dun dun! Don't forget to leave a comment if you liked the new chapter! Cheers!**


	7. End of a World

**I would like to dedicate this chapter to OWLSCRATCH: You should be glad. It was just so kind of you, I couldn't help myself.**

**Thank you for taking the time to read Siri's story and thank you especially if you have reviewed. It definitely helps.  
**

* * *

**Remembered  
**

**Chapter Seven: End of a World  
**

I blinked in the daylight as the pilot carried me down the landing ramp, onto the top of a skyscraper. The Chrysler Building was the first thing I recognized. New York! I felt a jolt of optimism as I realized that I knew where I was. I knew exactly where I was for the first time in days.

Admittedly, I was very far from home. Still it felt so familiar. I craned my head around as we neared an elevator to see the Grand Hyatt we had stayed in last year for my mother's birthday. And Central Station was just...and so we had to be...I couldn't remember which building we were on top of.

"Bring her inside. And do not let her out of your sight." Loki told the pilot, who nodded once. "We wouldn't want any accidents, would we?" Loki reached out a hand as if to touch my face, but I jerked away. "Do not fear me, Sister. I will not harm you. Unlike, " he tapped my metal leg with a finger nail. "Some." He smiled and began to walk away.

I was done arguing with him. He could think what he liked. I was not his sister, and while he was very dangerous with his scepter, he was _a crazy._

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. The pilot stepped inside and turned around. Loki and a middle aged man with frizzy hair stood gazing at a contraption that didn't look at all like it belonged on the top of a building. It looked like a science experiment. A tall, spindly, shiny beacon of some sort. And then the elevator doors shut, wiping them from our view.

We didn't move for a second. With a pang of humor, realized that I had to be the one to push the button. The pilot's hands were full. I reached out tentatively. The buttons were not marked. I thumbed the fourth one and it lit up.

I checked his face for a sign of approval. His gaze didn't falter from the direct stare at the closed elevator doors. He had those same weird blue eyes as the last two. I wondered if he was a robot.

We descended and stopped shortly at a level that closely resembled the inside of a pent house. A wet bar, fully stocked, stood at attention in one corner. Couches with an electric fireplace, coffee tables, there was even a deck overlooking the Big Apple. Maybe even a telephone!

"Hello?" I called out, praying there would be an answer. Hopefully, from someone who could get me out of this mess.

"Good afternoon."

The pilot spun, dropped my legs, whipped out a gun, and pointed it wildly about, searching for the source of the voice. He had an arm wrapped around me, keeping me close, and from falling. My eyes darted around the luxurious room, but found no one.

"Show yourself!" The pilot ordered, dragging me around in a tight circle to scan the area.

"I'm afraid that's not possible," a clipped, posh accent answered. "You are not authorized to be here, and I have alerted Mr. Stark of the security breech. Please leave."

The pilot dove behind a couch and we landed in a pile. Mr. Stark? As in...

"Tony Stark?" I asked before the pilot clamped his hand over my mouth, rearranging us so that he could search the room from the makeshift cover and still hold my mouth shut in a sweaty grip.

"Precisely." The voice answered.

We were in Tony Stark's house? That would explain a pent house next to the Chrysler. Why were we here? What was Loki doing on top of Tony Stark's building?

Of course! I mentally slapped my forehead. Stark Tower. We were in Stark Tower. I wiggled to try and free my mouth from his gross hand. Like an idiot, he kept scanning the room for a man to shoot.

I did the unthinkable and actually opened my mouth and bit as hard as I could. He let go of me with a cry. I sat back against the art-deco inspired couch.

"Ass-hole." I wiped my mouth. "It's a computer system." Of course I knew about J.A.R.V.I.S. Walter had gushed over Stark's invisible butler with envy many a time.

The pilot's jaw tightened as he looked at me, and I was worried for a second that he would get back at me for biting him. He holstered his gun and stood back up with a frown.

We were in Stark Tower and Jarvis had alerted Mr. Stark already. A chuckle escaped my throat.

"You guys are so screwed." I laughed. Iron Man was coming.

The pilot gripped my arm and hauled me up to standing.

"I will ask once more. Please leave." Jarvis intoned.

"Tell Mr. Stark that Loki is here, setting up some kind of- " is all I got out before the pilot dove on me and wrapped an arm around my face, choking off my words and air. I wrestled against him, panicking in my need to breathe.

"Not another word," he hissed in my ear. I nodded and after a long moment, his arm snaked from around my mouth and nose. I gulped in oxygen, my face hot and my body shaking. I really hated not being able to breathe. With one more ounce of courage I took a deep breath.

"Beacon." I finished the thought.

My ears rang from his backhand. I gasped at the hurt and saw stars. It would be a wonder if I didn't have some kind of brain damage after all this was over. I leaned heavily on the couch feeling extremely weak, and then slid to sit on it, my face in my hands. I closed my eyes and sunk into the surprisingly comfortable cushions.

That was it.

I was done being a hero.

My head throbbed.

I wasn't cut out for this job; there was no way I could work for S.H.I.E.L.D. I was a wimp. I couldn't stop Loki. I didn't even know what he was trying to do. I couldn't avenge Luke because I couldn't kill Loki. He had the scepter.

I began to grasp just how tired I was. I hadn't eaten since the conversation with Director Fury. My stomach clenched at the memory. Was I still supposed Did he still expect me to help him defeat Loki? I hadn't gotten any further than when I was locked in my little room on the helicarrier. I was hostage, again, helpless, here on Tony Stark's couch, with Loki's man standing over me with a gun pointed right at my brain.

I wondered if they crashed, if the helicarrier had fallen. Did that mean Stark was dead?

No. He had his Iron Man suit.

What about all the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents? Did they survive? Or was I on my own? What about Steve? He had to survive. He was so pretty.

Pretty?

I giggled sleepily.

He was too pretty to die, Bendis.

My head was fuzzy. I felt drunk from exhaustion. I would just rest here. I hurt so bad. I just needed to sleep. What did they expect me to do, anyway? Loki had the scepter. I was just a regular person, a girl, not a trained assassin like Romanov.

I was swirling, falling backward into the softness beneath. Despite any fear or pride, I dozed. Mr. Stark would get here or he wouldn't. The world would stop or it wouldn't.

* * *

_I am on my tipytoes and my nose just brushes the top of the cool, smooth marble counter. I reach my arm, fingers extended, stretching as far as I can, for the pretty bottles. They are lined up like tiny luminescent towers, against the mirror, all shapes, colors and sizes, a pastel city street. The long row of liquid filled bottles are made of glass and cut into silhouettes and patterns, like giant hollow diamonds. Golden light refracts and casts rainbows on the pure white counter top, glints off corners and plays along the designs cut into the glass bottles._

_I want them. But I can't reach. I am too little._

_I pull out a drawer, a bottom one, and climb up. Now I can almost reach one green one, the color of my brother's laughing eyes._

_I know mother uses the bottles to smell nice. I have watched her take the little tops off, press her fingers to the rim and turn it over. She dabs her finger on her neck and wrists, smiling into the mirror at me._

_Then she bends, picks me up- I was almost too big for this-and lets me smell._

_I want a bottle, especially the sea-green one with the vines. I want to show her how I could smell pretty, too._

_I want to be just like her. She is most beautiful person I have ever seen. Sometimes she lets me brush her long silky hair and put her crown on my own head.  
_

_Her soft hands brush my cheeks and she kisses my nose. She leans in to tickle me with her eyelashes. I laugh and so does she._

* * *

A deep rumbling, like a sub-woofer, shook my lungs and ribcage. A moaning, inhuman, and massive in volume shot me upright, eyes wide open, heart pounding. Outside the windows opposite the couch, a metal wall floated past, blocking the light of the sun. One window was blown out and glass was scattered across the floor. Sound leaked in. Scary sounds. Sirens and horns, too many of them to be an accident, and that horrible moaning, almost a roar, and screams. Thousands of screams.

I shot off the couch and landed on a body. The pilot's head was turned around, contorted grotesquely. He laid there, stomach down, staring under the couch. I scrambled off him and pulled myself up back on the couch.

Everything vibrated, an earthquake made by some giant metal wall floating across New York City, right past Stark Tower. The glasses in the wet bar clattered, spilled out of their places and shattered on the floor like ice falling from a roof.

It went on forever, swimming past the wall of windows I gaped out of. It was like some sort of blimp, but iron, and it moved forward with a slow waving motion, mimicking something that would be alive. Like a tapered off, as if it had a tail, and unveiled what I missed while I slept.

While I slept, New York City had been destroyed. A war zone. 9/11. Only it went on for blocks and blocks. I had never seen anything like it, except on movies about the end of the world.

I limped over the dead pilot, to the windows to get a better look. It was mesmerizing in a horrible way. How had I slept through all of this? How long had I been asleep? How had I not heard anything?

Smoke poured out of buildings, some were on fire. Far below car were stopped, scattered in the roads like a child left his toys. People as small as ants swarmed around chaotically, ducking into some buildings, streaming out of others. They screamed and ran. Lights from cop cars that were stopped in the roads on every corner, flashed red and blue and danced in the windows hollowly.

A smell wafted in from the broken window, a terrible mixture of burnt rubber, ash and fear. Things flew through the air, above the streets. Things. My brain could not think of another word for the reason New York looked like the start of World War III. The things zoomed about shooting people and cars and buildings, terrorizing and destroying everything in sight. I spotted some climbing up the sides of buildings, colossal bugs, or armored apes or aliens. They were ripping the city apart.

Bigger things I recognized as the iron wall I had seen up close, were swooping above the streets and knocking into skyscrapers, ripping them to shreds.

"Beautiful, is it not?" I gasped and stumbled around to face Loki. Had he been creeping behind me this whole time? His face shone with delight as he scanned the scene before us.

I sucked in air loudly. Here we go, I thought. My insides contracted and glued themselves together. I fought it, pulling in precious oxygen as fast as I could before I couldn't any longer.

"The end of a world." He crooned proudly, his hand sweeping out, as if he could help wipe it out. "Albeit a moronic one. I am glad to see it go, aren't you?"

I held myself up, numb hands propped on my legs. My vision spun and dripped. My heart beat a fast tempo on my ribs, in my throat. It was too fast. I was going to die. I crumpled, imploded. A black hole where my lungs used to be, sucked me in, turned me inside out.

"I did this for us, Gersemi. Look well upon that which you will no longer see. Midigard it once was. Now it shall be mine. I will rule it, a true king, with a heavy hand and a glorious purpose. And you, sister, shall be my right hand."

Eff that. I was no Lanister sibling.

His fingers pinched my face and turned it towards the windows again.

"I said, look. See what I have done? What I can do? Did you doubt me? And this is just the beginning."

I listened to his words with horror, as they rose in volume to drown out the sounds of my pathetic attempt to breathe. My eyes filled with tears, washing the view with tepid salt water.

"Stop!" His tone rose in crescendo. "Stop sniveling like some worthless cur of a woman. You are Asgardian, and royalty. Stand up." He wrapped a hand around my wrist and yanked me up. "Do not mourn the degenerates, the sludge of the universe. I shall allow some to live, as my slaves."

Unhappy with my lack of excitement, or response for that matter, he pulled me close and marched me outside. I did not want to be out on the deck. I wanted to stay inside where it was...somewhat safer.

The noises grew much more alarming out on the deck. The sirens were louder and the periodic grinding of metal on metal shook me to my core. There was no way I was surviving this time. My heart could not take it much longer. I leaned all my weight on Loki forcing him to hold me up. I was so weak.

"Look, Gersemi. Power."

He pointed up, behind us. I followed his gaze to a shocking blue cord that shot out of the top of Stark Tower and reached straight up. I traced the cord to the top of the sky, to a hole in the atmosphere. Black and gaping like a mouth spitting out things. Aliens. From outer space. God, could this get any weirder?

I watched dizzily as another monstrous...thing...alien snake-fish-ship emerged from the mouth, floated almost lazily down and demolished a building, scraping away chunks of concrete and glass like cottage cheese.

I believed him then. I leaned against Loki at the edge, looking over the end of the world.

This was happening. There was no way to explain this away. Aliens were attacking New York City. Loki. Loki was real. He had to be. He was either lying the whole time or real. And there was no doubt this was happening. He hadn't been lying. He was Loki, as in the enemy of Thor. And he was destroying Earth.

I coughed. And took a breath.

There were gods and aliens. There were gods and aliens and magic. I definitely believed in the magic of the scepter. And there were monsters. I had seen that green monster. And Dr. Banner told me he turned into one. I made the connection. Duh. That green monster was Dr. Banner. How had I been so blind?

Iron Man was the closet to science fiction I had ever believed in. How much further of a jump in belief was it from Iron Man to some mythological guys? Director Fury did say that he had gods and monsters on his helicarrier. I guess I had just shrugged that off without a thought.

Or I was too distracted, at that time, with having my ass handed to me.

I was coughing and that was a good sign. I felt a tiny bit of release, with each new breath.

And that meant there was really a Captain America. And he had carried me. With his hands. I was mortified. I had made fun of him!

It took me looking down the barrel of the end of the world to find out that super heroes exist. That magic is real. That I was not a native.

I didn't belong. Somehow that thought brought me peace. The panic attack subsided completely.

I knew, now.

I was more than American. Or human. The knowledge gave me something to hold on to. My whole life, I felt out of place. I thought it was just a side effect of being adopted. And maybe it was. But maybe it was more than that, too.

I was not just from another country or state or town. I was from a different planet.

I pushed off Loki, pulling out of his arms and looked at him. He turned his gaze from the war he was admiring, to look back at me.

"I believe you," I said. And I meant it.

I knew what I believed! I was in control of at least that much.

He smiled. "I knew you would come around."

Lightning flashed. Moments before, the sky had been blue. Now a cloud hung over this part of the city. Wind whipped at our hair.

"Here is our brother now, tardy as usual." Loki didn't look excited to see him.

The ground shook, thunder clapped and then before us stood the blond centurion with the hammer. The one that had been fighting the green monster on the helicarrier. He held the huge metal hammer in strong hands, a threatening stance.

Thor.

"Stop this madness, Loki!" he bellowed.

"Look who I found, Thor. Shall I be rewarded by the All-Father? A handsome prize in exchange for his lost daughter?"

Thor turned his eyes to me. "End the war and then we can discuss prizes."

"There is no stopping the Chitari, brother."

"We can stop them together! Fight with us!"

"Did you not hear my words?" Loki pushed me in between them. "I recovered Gersemi, after all these years. Imagine mother's-"

"Admirable!" Thor yelled. I detected a hint of sarcasm. "Now turn the tesseract off!"

"Typical." Loki spat. "If you were to find Gersemi, you would be showered with praise and gold. Yet another conquer for the great Thor! I can't turn it off. There is no stopping what has already been set in motion."

"Come home, then! Let us bring her back together. You will be rewarded, I give you my word."

Wait.

They were taking me somewhere? No way was I actually going to their planet. Outer space was cold and dark and empty. I was not getting a rocket and launching myself to some mythological planet to meet estranged parents.

"Do not placate me!" Loki snarled.

"What do you wish from me, brother?"

"I want Midigard to burn. I want Jane Foster to die a slow and torturous death. I want dominion over every mewling scut of a human. And then I want Asgard."

Thor looked miserable for a moment. Then his face hardened.

This was my cue to get out of the way. I started to hobble away and just in time because Thor launched himself at Loki. I reached the glass door as the close proximity sound of scepter on hammer nearly knocked me to the ground. I slid the door open stepped inside and then shut it as quickly as I could. I breathed there, my back to the burning city and their fight.

I needed a drink.


	8. Mute and Numb, Not!

**Hey all. Hope you had a great week! So this chapter is a bit...crazy. I am not making excuses or apologizing it's just...there is no limit to what a human does in reaction to trauma. I find this reaction funny, if a little strange. **

**I started working on the sequel, also, and it will be more of a romance than action-y, angst-y, drama. Here comes the Captain...finally!  
**

**I also have a few one-shots from the perspective of other characters set during "Remembered" including Loki, Romanov, Fury and Steve. Holler if you are interesting in reading any of these, and I will post 'em.  
**

**I do not own Marvel, The Avengers, The Captain, Thor or...Riddick. haha. You'll see.  
**

**Okay. Here it goes...  
**

* * *

**Remembered  
**

**Chapter Eight: Mute and Numb...Not!  
**

Let me first say, I am not an alcoholic.

I did occasionally drink, but never alone and never to drown my sorrows. I was a lightweight drinker at best. But right now, with the end of the world at hand, it felt right to need a drink, to self medicate. Maybe I was crazy, maybe this was a defense mechanism, a way to block out the reality of what I was mixed up in. But, Lord, did I need a drink.

I always imagined myself at the end of times, on a beach somewhere, with a drink in hand. Not a care in the world.

It was 2012, after all. The Mayan calendar predicted this. I shouldn't be surprised, really. An alien invasion seemed like an ok way to go. So here I was, free from anxiety about it all, free from needing to try to live, from needing to try to save the world.

I had already silently given my five minutes notice to Director Fury. I had quit trying and it felt good. All that work for nothing, might as well just sit back, relax with a drink, and die like the rest of the humans.

If I even _was_ I human. I _felt_ like a human. At least I _thought_ I felt like a human. What was Asgardian, anyway? Just a really tall version of human?

There was still that pesky guilt. How could I think about drinking at a time like this?

...duh. This was the perfect time to drink: the world was sharp and painful. It was time to take a load off, stop caring and numb any fears or doubts clinging on.

I had my eyes closed as if I could shut out the fight happening between Loki and Thor, as if it were just one of those horror movies Gabe made me watch. My hands were over my eyes, blocking the whole thing out. I took a breath.

Fuck the world!

I was going to have a drink.

Empowered by my decision, I barely felt the pain as I half limped half hopped to Tony Stark's wet bar, careful not to slip on broken glass underfoot. Bottles lined the shelves, protected by glass doors firmly shut in place. I eye-balled them, coming to the realization that I wasn't a bartender. I had no idea how to make a good drink. I had always just handed over my credit car and ordered drinks with names like _Sex on the Beach_ and _Slutty Girl Scout_.

Weird. Both were kind of skanky names.

Periodic crashes outside battered at my conscience.

Jose Cuerve! I knew tequila when I saw it. And just below, reclining safely on the counter in a stone bowl, were three limes. All I needed now was a shot glass and salt. Every shot of tequila deserved a lick of salt.

Maybe I wasn't on a beach and maybe my drink wouldn't be tropical or come with a little umbrella, but this was the second best thing I could think of. After a minute of pulling drawers and cabinets open I found a knife, a fancy one, an unopened container of salt, and a shot glass with a picture of Iron Man giving the bird. I rolled my eyes. Of course he had shot glasses of his super-hero alter ego flipping the world off.

I ignored the wordless howls from the deck, averting my eyes. The guilt prodded me again, right in the my moral ribs. A war was happening right out side. I was essentially in the middle of it, the very center, having myself a shot. Alone.

Maybe I was an alcoholic. If I lived past today I would have to address that issue.

I tipped the bottle over, leaking its contents into the short glass, filling it past Iron Man's head, drowning the little figure in yellow tequila.

Something new stopped me short: I was a thief. I was stealing from Stark. None of this was mine. I had nothing to leave him; S.H.I.E.L.D. had confiscated everything when I was their prisoner. All I had now was a full-leg metal boot and a jumpsuit that was oversize and by now probably smelt pretty bad.

I cleared my throat. "Um, Jarvis?" I called out in a small voice.

"Present," came his dry response.

"Is there any way to leave a message for Mr. Stark?"

"There is." He didn't explain.

"Um, how?"

"I can relay any message to him, verbatim. In your voice, if you prefer."

"Oh. Ok. Ready?"

"When you are."

"Ok. Uh, Hello. Um, Mr. Stark, this is Siri. Eisen. You met me on the helicarrier " I remembered my breakdown in front of him and everyone else in the lab, and cringed. "Never mind," I swallowed. "I just, well, this is awkward, but I am leaving an IOU. One shot of tequila, one, uh, lick of salt, and probably a sixteenth of a lime. Unless the rest of the lime goes bad, and then I am totally ok with buying you a whole other lime." I palmed my forehead. No one could buy a sixteenth of a lime anywhere. "Yeah, I owe you a lime. Okay, that's it. And I like your pent house. It's very state of the art meets art deco." I shook my head. Why did I add that?

"This that all, Ms. Eisen?"

"Yeah," I groaned in embarrassment. "Oh. And add 'thanks'. And 'sorry.'"

"Very well."

"Okay. Thanks, Jarvis."

"You are welcome."

Then I thought about something. What if I could call some one? Who would I call? The police? They probably had their hands full. Still it was worth the try.

"Can you make a phone call?" I asked Jarvis, kind of excited.

"I am certainly able to. However, you are not authorized to use this function."

I slumped. Never mind.

And back to the tequila!

I felt a tiny bit better. I was sure he could afford a shot of tequila, a lime and a tiny lick of salt. I sliced the lime in half and then quartered it. The smell made my mouth water. Tiny squirts dripped from my fingers. I licked them; my jaw tightened and my eyes watered. I shook the container of salt into the palm of my hand, closing my fist around it and trickling the fine powder onto the neck of my other hand's thumb.

My stomach fluttered in anticipation. Now that I was all set up I wasn't sure how to do it. I couldn't remember the order. I stared at my set up. Was it the lime first? Or the tequila? Lime, tequila and salt? Tequila, salt then lime? The lime had to be the chaser.

I decided to go for the salt first. I picked up the Iron Man shot glass, and clinked it against the bottle of tequila.

"To Asgard!" I joked, actually laughing out loud. Loki would be proud.

I ran my tongue over the grainy salt. Without waiting to register the taste I put the glass to my lips and tipped my head back. It was smooth and hot and went right down my throat without any protest. I jammed a lime wedge into my mouth and bit down. It wasn't as sour as it should have been; the alcohol had muted my taste buds instantly.

The tequila lit a fire in my stomach, but it felt good, like an open oven on a cold winter night. The warmth spread up my chest as I sucked on the lime. I loved tequila. The salt burnt my lips and I felt alive. My heart beat loud and fast, for once in a good way.

I took out the thoroughly chewed lime and tossed it in the garbage bin I had found under ice holder. I licked my lips, and then my hand, cleaning it of left over salt, savoring the extra taste.

Well. There that was.

I felt a little adventurous, a little bad ass. And a little let down. No stroke of genius. No great ideas of how to get out of this mess.

I looked around for a clue of what to do next. I resisted the urge to take another shot and put the bottle away, rinsed out the glass and wiped the counter down with my arm. Three quarters of a lime remained. I put one in my mouth and loved that it wasn't too sour. The after taste of Jose Cuerve and the acid of the lime was heavenly.

I looked again around the room with green rind sticking out of my mouth dumbly. I really did like Stark's taste. I would have to ask him who his designer was. Except the dead guy at the foot of one of the couches, the broken glass all over the floor, and a pile of old boxes in the corner, the place was perfect.

The boxes caught my attention. I really wanted to sit down, with my back to the windows and forget all about the battle raging outside. I also really wanted to know what was in the boxes. They were strangely mundane in the midst of an amazing pent house, with signs of a fight, a dead guy and an alien invasion happening. I wanted mundane.

I spit out the lime, set it on the counter and moved towards the boxes, moving slower that I was expecting to move.

Great. I was going to be the tired drunk this time. It took forever to make it to the closest wall that would take me around the room, behind the couches to the stack of boxes. I moved through molasses. My leg really felt like it was made of iron. I sighed. This was what I got for drinking when I was exhausted.

I kept my eyes on the boxes, to keep from looking out the windows. They were too scary. Bloodcurdling yells wafted in the broken window, amplified somehow in my brain. Okay, maybe it hadn't been a good idea to take a shot at the end of the world.

I made it to the boxes like a champ and leaned unsteadily against the wall, bending over to flip the flaps open. Gadgets. Old ones, it looked like, but cool all the same. I picked one out that sat on top of the other in easy reach. It was disk-like, round and flattish. I straightened, examining it. There were no buttons or switches. It was smooth, with a single crack that went around like an opening. I shook it. Nothing happened. So it wasn't hollow.

"Hello?" I held it up to my ear like a phone. Nothing. It was all rusty so maybe it was too old to work anymore. And it looked nothing like a telephone. Just wishful thinking.

"You are not authorized to used that."

I screamed and jumped, loosing my grip on the metal thing. It clanked on the floor and rolled away, too far to bother about now.

"Jaaarviiis!" I whined. "Not now! I have to find...something." What was I looking for again?

I bent again. I recognized the shape of a tangled mess. "Goggles!" I announced. They were, sort of. They were like steampunk goggles, or old car-ride glasses. I untangled them. They were very Chronicles of Riddick. I pulled them on with a little trouble, they didn't want to fit my face.

"It ain't me you gotta worry about now." I growled in my best Vin Disel voice and then laughed.

I tugged on them, trying to line the lenses up with my eyes just right, so that I could see out of them. I finally pulled on the right strap and they conformed to my head. I turned my eyes to the windows and gasped. The crown of Chrysler Building was right in front of my face, like up close and personal. All up in my grill. I could count the bricks if I wanted to.

Cool! My Riddick glasses were awesome! They could see very far. Binoculars that I didn't have to hold on to or adjust. They automatically adjusted to what I was looking at. What else was there? I slid the goggles to my forehead and bent to find more treasures in the box.

I almost tipped over into the box. I laughed at myself, holding on shelving behind the box. I was so sober. It was only one shot. I knew I was a lightweight, but this was pathetic.

Fine, my goggles were enough. I was going to look through them.

On top of the building. Hell yeah!

I moved very slowly around the room, excited to play out my great idea. Except Jarvis. He was such a wet towel. A party pooper. He wouldn't even let me call anyone.

"Oh Jarvis." I crooned in my best flirt voice, trying to get on his good side.

"Yes, Ms. Eisen."

"Can I go up the elevator. Or am I not _authorized_?" I emphasized the word, feeling very witty.

"You are authorized, but I would suggest you stay in doors. It is not safe."

"What are you, my mom?" I giggled. I was so going to the roof! Hell yeah!

I made it to the elevator doors and thumbed the up arrow.

"I am not." Jarvis answered, belatedly.

"Are too!" I argued, forgetting what he was talking about.

He did not answer me. "Are too, Jarvis! You are." I said seriously.

The elevator doors opened and I went inside, wishing I could ditch the metal leg. I clung to the handhold for dear life as the floor ascended. That did not feel good on my tummy. I was relieved when the doors opened again. I did not like the elevator anymore.

I was on the roof! Hell yeah!

My excitement waned when I actually looked at what was happening. Loki's little science experiment was the source of the huge electric beam that shot up into the sky. It crackled with electricity and made a strange, loud rumbling that I could feel in my chest. I craned my neck, following it up impossibly high to the black hole in the sky. I shivered. I hated outer space. It was cold and dark and had no air to breathe.

I made a bizarre connection in my tipsy brain. Outer space was why I was still afraid of the dark. The night was too much like being lost in an empty vacuum where all my senses would be useless, where I would die without protection. Where the stars or the moon were not actually close but very very far away from everything.

Out of the black mouth of hole poured alien crafts, raining down on New York. I felt myself tip backwards and I almost fell.

"You cannot shut it off!" A voice yelled past the windy top of building. It was that oldish man with wild thinning hair and a horrible plaid shirt.

"I'm not!" I yelled back, annoyed. What was it? Tell Siri what to do, day? Get off my back, old man.

"The portal cannot be shut off!" He yelled, but then I noticed that he was not telling me, he was warning me. He was scared.

"The portal?" I felt bad for him. Maybe I could help him.

"She wants to show us " He said, looking back at the metal contraption. I was confused. He looked confused too.

A blue light glowed in it, like a heart. Blue like my beloved scepter. That I had lost. I sniffed.

"I may have made a way " He said and then grabbed his head, as if he hurt. I made my way towards him. He didn't resist when I wrapped my arms around him. I wanted to help him. I hated when old people were sad.

I heard him groan. "Shhhh." I tried to comfort him. "It's ok." I felt tears well up in my eyes, sympathizing with him. "It will all work out." My voice wavered and I patted his back. "Thor will save us." I crooned. "Or Iron Man." Or somebody. A knight in shining armor. Something in me stirred, uncomfortable and a bit hurt.

"Thor?" His voice was hoarse. He looked at me strangely, as if he couldn't quite remember something. Poor guy. He probably had Dementia.

"Yeah Thor." I let him go and he looked around uncertainly. "Do you know him? I just recently met him. Sort of." I stepped back. "And he's my brother, apparently." I said offhandedly.

"Brother." He repeated.

"Are you lost?" I asked him.

"I am lost." His grief torn face made me want to cry again. "I have betrayed him." He rubbed his temples, closing his eyes.

"Who?" I asked.

"Thor. Jane. Everyone."

"Oh." I sighed. "I'm lost too. I want to go home." That didn't sound right. "I think."

He straightened suddenly, knocking me back and almost onto my butt. "I have to shut it down...I have to... the safe... where is the... " He muttered, turning away and moving towards the contraption.

I watched him uncertainly for a moment, brushing my hair out of my face. I froze, feeling something foreign around my head. The goggles! Oh yeah! The whole reason I came up here!

I hopped to the edge of the building, away from old crazy guy, to a sort of waist-high lip that kept me from falling off Start Tower. I pulled the goggles down over my eyes.

I peered down the building and found a man in a blue polo, to watch. He dodged an alien craft as it crashed, skid right past him into a shop. Glass shattered across him and the street. The man, just barely keeping his life, looked up with a very relieved expression, briefly thanking God for saving his skin. He ran down the street ignoring some parked cops, that waved him along. He brushed past crowds of people running the opposite way. It was hard to keep track of him. He moved against the current, the wrong way. He kept looking behind him and into the sky. Something red flashed across the view of the glasses, too big and fast for the goggles to react to.

I reeled back, surprised by the blurry image. I pushed the goggles back to my forehead and squinted in his direction for the culprit. A tiny glint of red soared down the street, moving towards Stark Tower. I pulled the lenses back down and found...

"Iron Man!" I yelled triumphantly. I knew he would save us! The head of a huge alien snake fish craft turned the corner, grinding into buildings on both sides of the street, fifty feet above the people below. Debris rained down on them, crushing a few in an instant death.

"Oh shit!" I yelled. I focused on the people covered in chunks of building, loosing sight of Iron Man. A clump of aliens on the ground surrounded a familiar sight, not far away.

The unmistakable get up of Captain America, blue spandex with stars and stripes, crouched the center of a ring of aliens. He deflected a few blasts with his shield, taking out two or three aliens, then threw it into them. It knocked some over, decapitating one. He turned and the opposite way, in a flash, and kicked another that had ventured too close, in the side of the face. He spun, catching the shield as if it were a simple frisbee.

"Whoa. Did you see that?" He was the shit.

A new figure dropped into the ring of aliens, clad in black leather and a red bob. Romanov. They took out the rest before I could say a word and then turned towards each other, discussing something. Romanov pointed right at me. I focused on their mouths, wishing I was good at reading lips. The Captain looked up at me, too. I waved at them. They didn't wave back.

Rude.

Oh right. They were blocks away. I had special glasses on.

I waved again, forgiving their rudeness.

They parted and then faced each other in sort of crouches. What where they doing? I watched her watch the aliens zoom by overhead.

"_No._" I said more in excitement than disbelief. She wasn't... She ran straight at the Captain and then leaped onto his ready shield. He launched her into the air just as an alien passed over them. I could barely see her grab the craft and and she was wisked away. I yelled, astonished.

"Is it Thor?" a voice asked in my ear. I yelled louder, ripping the goggles off and peering at Old Guy. I panted. He had scared me.

"No. Captain America and Romanov."

"Romanov. Natasha. Black Widow." He said, raking over the city with his eyes wildly. He was babbling.

"You wanna try my glasses? They see far." I asked, pulling the strap off my head. My hair came with it, tangled madly around the rubber of the goggles.

"Ow ow ow ow!" I screamed at the stupid piece of equipment. "Stop pulling my hair! Evil!"

"Here." He worked at untangling me. "Hold on." I held on to the ledge. He released my hair and put them on for himself.

"Watch out," I cautioned him. "They grab." He turned towards me, goggles in place. I burst out laughing.

He looked like a bug. He looked like a fucking bug with huge googley eyes. "You look " I couldn't finish. I doubled over, cracking up. He stared at me for a moment, not reacting. It made me laugh more. My ribs hurt.

"Are you inebriated?" He finally asked.

"Noooooo." I lied. I could hear the falseness with my own ears. "You are."

He shook his buggy head, and turned it towards the street."The hulk!" He said in wonderment, leaning over the edge kind of dangerously.

"The what?" I asked, gasping for breath, my eyes watering from my case of the gigs. I grabbed his shirt so he wouldn't fall off the building. "Watch out. Be careful. No falling down." I mumbled for his benefit.

"He's in control! He's fighting the aliens!" He crowed triumphantly, ignoring my attempts at saving his life. "Where is Thor?" He asked me.

"He's on the patio, fighting Loki." I answered.

"What!" He ripped the goggles off.

"Whaaaaat?" I imitated, patting his ugly-plaid shirt clad arm. He sighed and strode over the other side of the building to look down.

"No he is not!" He yelled at me.

"Well! He was!" I yelled back. How was I supposed to keep track of them? At all times! Psh.

"The staff!" He yelled over his shoulder.

"Scepter!" I howled back.

He didn't respond.

"It's a scepter."

He crumpled to the ground, clutching his head. Something was wrong. I hopped as fast as I could, reaching him just as he hit the ground.

"Mr.!" I bent over, doing my best to roll him on to his back with my arms. His face was white, clenched in a grimace. "Old guy!" I shook him. "What's wrong!" My heart was speeding up. I was scared. "Wake up!" I said in a panic. I bent my good leg as far as it would go, slid my metal leg out, put my hands back behind me, and hoped for the best. I fell back with a huff and sat down next to him. I picked one of his hands off his face. "Come on! It's a staff! You can call it whatever you want to! I'm sorry!" I joked lamely. I knew something else had caused him to collapse.

"What happened!" I whipped my head around. Romanov ran towards us. Thank God. Our knight in shining armor had arrived.


	9. Aftermath of Your Reign

**Hey. So I have an excuse for not updating in two weeks. I was hit pretty hard by the shootings here in Colorado. But writing is good for you, or so I've heard. And Siri still matters to me. And so do the Avengers.**

**Thank you so much for reading and thank you so much for your input!**

**-Coy**

* * *

**Remembered**

**Aftermath of your Reign**

Romanov glared at me as if this whole situation was my fault. Is if I called down the aliens, personally demolished New York City, and gave the old guy a stroke. So maybe it was my fault that I had taken a shot on a very very empty stomach. But I didn't mean for any of this to happen. And despite popular belief, just because I was his estranged sister, that didn't mean I was on his side. I was Thor's sister too!

Her expression put me on the defense, had my hair bristling and my teeth bared. Proverbially speaking.

"Well?" she demanded at me. "What happened?"

"Everything happened!" I blurted, blinking away tears of self-pity that I had thought I had left far behind. Blame it on the alcohol, but I lost my defensive attitude as soon as I opened my mouth.

"I'm right here! You don't have to shout!" Romaov yelled.

"Oh." I made my voice a lot smaller, as small as I felt under her scrutiny. "sorry."

She sniffed once. "Are you drunk?"

"No!" I denied instantly. She cringed away from my loud proclamation.

"You pick very bad times to drink!" I felt her judgment roll over her as she pulled the old guy onto her lap. He didn't look so good. His face was sweaty and a color better suited on a dead man.

"Well, when do you drink?" I shot back, defensive again.

"I don't."

"Oh."

"What happened?" she asked again.

"An alien invasion."

"To him!" she looked at me with venom.

"Oh." I shrunk. "I don't know. He looked at the scepter," I pointed to the drop off.

"The scepter?"

"Loki's"

"Where?"

I pointed again.

"Doctor! We need to shut down the portal." She said into the old guy's face. His eyes rolled around, searching for her voice. He mumbled something. She shook him, a little rougher than I thought necessary. He was obviously not doing well even without her antics. I wasn't about to argue with her.

"Doctor!"

He suddenly gained a modicum of lucidity and focused on her eyes. "Get the scepter. I may have left a way to shut it off."

"I can't use it." Romanov growled to herself, more than me, forgetting for a second that I was there.

"I can." I exclaimed proudly.

"Not like that you can't." she glowered at me.

"What!"

"You can't operate a weapon in that state."

"I am not in a state! I can shut it down!" I could not believe she wouldn't let me do the one thing I could to help.

Her jaw clenched and unclenched. "Fine. It can't get any worse." She shifted out from underneath the doctor, motioning for me to hold his head, and then was running for the elevator. I didn't want to hold his head. It was hot. I didn't do well with this sort of thing. Comforting people was not my forte.

"Uh," I said at the old guy when we were alone. "Can I get you anything?"

He didn't answer. His face contracted in pain and my heart thudded. I waited like that, his head a bowling ball in my lap, afraid to move from my ordered spot. I listened to the city being destroyed. I listened to the hum of the portal and the periodic whining of sirens. It felt like a year before I heard the elevator ding, announcing the return of Romanov and the scepter.

I watched her approach with the scepter and I moved my flesh leg out from under old guy's head. She watched me struggle to stand. I was up and huffing from the exertion of getting vertical with one leg and one metal stump. I held out my hand greedily, for the scepter. She yanked it out of my reach. I met her face with a question that died on my lips when I took in the expression in her eyes.

"What?" I asked warily, looking around for new danger, something that could possibly be worse than it already was.

"Don't. Fuck. This. Up." She ordered me.

I swallowed, now as unsure of myself as she was of me.

"Old—doctor?" I looked around to see that he was on his hands and knees, working to right himself. He groaned as he stood and Romanov pulled on his arm to steady him. "What do I do?" I asked him.

"Here." He grunted. Romanov started towing him towards the portal, the scepter still in her hand. I followed, limping from flesh leg to iron, around the other side of the contraption. Every other step made a clanking noise that made me feel like a degenerate. He pointed to a spot and looked to me to see if I understood my mission.

I didn't. I had still had no idea what I was supposed to do. "Do I destroy it?" I said over the noise of the portal.

He shook his head. "Can't be." Sweat dripped onto to the top of his shoes. "Put it in through the shield, there."

I looked at Romanov, who didn't seem to want to give me the scepter still. I waggled my hand at her. She reluctantly, so slowly, handed it to me, distrust written all over her.

It was like not knowing I couldn't see clearly and being handed a pair of glasses for the first time. Everything was much cleaner, more distinct and lovely. There was beauty in the world when I held the scepter. I moved to put the tip of it into the contraption. The air around me seemed to ripple at the movement. That was the shield he mentioned, an invisible barrier to protect Loki's portal.

"Wait!" Romanov hollered at me above the whirring. I stopped moving and watched her lift her hand to her ear. "I can shut it down." She said to whoever was on the other line.

I made an involuntary noise of disappointment. She rolled her eyes. "Siri can shut it down with the scepter." I waited as she listened. He face paled and my stomach dropped. What now? "Wait." She ordered me again. Her eyes turned upwards.

"For what?" I asked fearfully following her line of sight. I didn't see anything unusual. I mean except a steady stream of hostile aliens emerging from a black hole in the sky directly above me head.

And then I saw it. A red glint, moving against the stream of alien crafts, flying upwards, dodging and swooping until it was gone, right out of this world. Iron Man flew into outer space. I gasped, unable to look away from where I had seen him last. Why would he even dream of doing that? My knowledge of science and technology extended only to how to use my smart phone, but I was pretty sure his suit could not survive out there. Nothing survived out there. I shuddered. I hated outer space.

My eyes flicked to see Romoav with a similar expression on her face. "Should I…"

"Wait!" she yapped at me again without meeting my eyes.

I looked back up. I am glad I did because at that moment a flash of something caught my attention. It came from beyond the blue. An explosion. I didn't dare hope that wasn't Iron Man exploding. But then something curious happened. The alien ships above our heads stopped forward movement. They dropped straight down, like deal metal hail.

Amazingly, and little unbelievably, none were directly overhead, aimed at Stark Tower in their suicide plummets. We watched them drop, praying they wouldn't kill more as they made contact with earth. Noise died out. The dust did not settle. It hung over the city in a sort of W-T-F-just-happened sort of way. We had gotten used to the constant sounds of destruction. When the last craft had crashed in flames and pieces of building we looked back up for Iron Man.

He didn't fly back. Outer space ate him, did not spit him out.

"Do it." Romanov said heavily. I looked once more to the sky, then pushed the scepter further in. The portal reacted immediately. It dimmed, quieted and then stopped altogether. The silence was deafening, until the cries of people rose up from the ruined streets, eerily.

Iron Man was gone. Who else didn't make it? Hundreds? Thousands? We had won but what was the butcher's bill? Not to mention all the people trapped in the rubble.

I heard a noise, a gasp. Romanov pointed to the same red glint. It fell.

"Is that…"

And fell. And didn't slow down.

"He's not slowing!" Romanov yelled.

This was worse than not seeing him die. We could not tear our eyes from his body plummeting like the alien crafts, straight down. He dropped behind a skyscraper, out of sight.

"They got him." She breathed after a moment.

"Who got him?" I hoped not an alien.

"The hulk. Thor and the Captain." She looked behind herself, squinting into the distant city. "Clint? Still kicking?"

Clint?

"Loki? We don't have him." She paused to listen. "It was just lying on the ground. Siri." She rolled her eyes at me. "She's fine." I brightened, wondering who was worried about me.

"Is that Fury?" I asked. She waved me away, listening again.

"What is shwarma?"

"Director Fury!" I found myself yelling in the general direction of her earpiece. She shot me quite the look.

"He would. Whatever. But we have to find Loki first. Thor's what?"

I was really intrigued now. "Hey tell Director Fury I shut the portal down." I requested. He needed to know I accomplished something he couldn't. At least that was how I felt about it at that moment.

She ignored me, and bent to pick the doctor up, who was actually beginning to look a little better. The color in his face was more human than ghost. "Naked?" she stopped moving.

Now I had to know what was going on.

"Who?" I was pleased once again to find out that the scepter helped immensely in walking. "Who are you talking to?" I whispered loudly in her free ear when I was close enough. She jerked away from my close proximity and I found myself subdued with one of her hands loosely wrapped around the front of my throat. I guess it was stupid of me to sneak up on superheroes. I gulped, trying not to giggle nervously.

"Tell him to hold off on transformation till I can bring him some clothes." She turned, releasing me, to help the old guy towards the elevator. "Oh. Good idea. I'll be down, then. No." She looked at me and nodded her head at me to get in the elevator with the old guy. "No." Romanov said again, adamantly. "No. She is staying here. No. Then you come get her."

"Come get me!" I yelled at who ever was on the other line.

Romanov pointed at the open elevator, ordering me like a dog to get inside. I huffed and did as I was told, left behind, again. All alone. With the old guy. The doors began to shut and Romanov stuck an arm in the sensor, holding it open.

"Stay here." She demanded, again like I was her personal golden retriever. I looked at her with my best pout until the doors slid shut.

"Stay here." I mimicked and then remembered the old guy, slumped against the walls of one corner. He regarded me with exhaustion.

"You remind me of Darcy," he said, his voice was hoarse.

"Mr. Darcy?" I asked in shock. Jane Austin's dark hero of Pride and Prejudice? I hadn't heard that one before.

He shook his head. "An intern. Good heart, but…quite sassy."

I frowned. I wasn't used to being called sassy. It was the alcohol. I swear. I needed to reign myself in, but it was hard when everything felt so free and easy and…swimmy.

"I'm not sassy. The tequila is." I explained. I realized right away that didn't help my case in any way.

He sighed and shut his eyes, leaning his head against one wall, as if he had given up on the whole idea of me. A second later the doors opened. The old guy and I stood in shock at the view of Tony Stark's pent house. Somehow it got worse since the last time I'd been down here. It was smashed to bits, huge holes gauged out of the walls and floors.

My first thought was thanks that I hadn't been down here when this had happened. The second was to wonder if it was safe. The old guy seemed to think it was. He pushed himself upright and huffed his way into Starks's broken house. It was a pity, really. This place used to be so nice. I followed him into the mess, much more cautiously. He didn't stop to survey the damage. Instead he made his way to the only remaining couch standing upright and collapsed onto.

I hoped he hadn't just given up on life and died. I stood in the quite for a moment, trying to decide what to do. Where was everyone? Who was everyone? That's when I heard a wheezing sound. I turned around sharply. It stopped. I froze. Another rattling sound, soft and wet. Then a cough. I walked (quiet easily with the scepter in hand except that one knee was not free to bend) around a hole in the floor and the rubble around it and then stopped right in the middle of a step, my heart leaping into my mouth.

Adrenaline shot through me, cold and hot at once and blood pooled in my face. Loki was right there on the ground. Lying here. Mostly dead. His wide, stunned, eyes roamed over my face, jumped briefly to the scepter, and then back to my face. He didn't smile. He was literally imprinted into the floor, as he had just lied down and sunk into it. Or as if someone flung him by the ankle right into the ground. He shook and I realized the sound I had first noticed was his shallow breaths.

I was still scared.

I stood like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar, my own eyes reflecting the stunned look plastered on his face. I opened my mouth to warn the old guy of Loki's presence, but nothing came out. I pulled the scepter close to my body, in between the two of us. I watched something of a shadow flicker over his face, an emotion I didn't understand at first because I had never seen it on him: fear.

He was just as scared as I was.

Sometimes it's hard to believe that wild animals like bears, lions and snakes are more afraid of humans than we are of them. But they are. They just act out of fear, attacking to defend their young, territory or life.

A fresh gust of wind carried the scent of fallen leaves and a wet riverbank. It was a musty smell but it was also home. It smelled of raked piles of leaves, bugs, dirt, and cooling air. Those brittle leaves, mostly brown with the end of summer, rattled on their way down and crunched in the most delicious way when I stepped on them with my foot.

A peel of delighted laughter, like bells, caught my attention and brought me down to earth. And earth was different than I was expecting it to be. It was outside, not in Stark's seriously botched up house. It was warm and sunny and golden with autumn. I stood on an asphalt bike trail, a jungle of a mountain to my left and a river to my right, sparkling in the sunlight, babbling away in a language I couldn't understand. It was alarming to be suddenly here, and not there. Loki was gone, the old guy was gone, New York was gone.

This was familiar. I had done this before. The living room with Gabe. I had been inside one of my memories, or traveled back in time or was hallucinating. Here I was again in a different place than I was expecting, clutching the scepter like Gandalf in front of me, balanced precariously on my iron leg, and dressed in the baggy uniform given to me by SHILED. Completely out of place, yet feeling like I was finally home.

The laughter, again, turned me around. My mom, looking a decade younger, even before her boob job, strode purposely down the path towards where I stood. She had on peach colored spandex and a purple sweatband. Her hair poked out from under the band wildly in brunette waves, and her hands pumped bright orange two-pound dumbbells as she speed walked.

"Mom!" I called out in a burst of relief, surprise and amusement at the sight of her work out. Her face didn't register my voice though. Right. I wasn't really here. I could neither be seen nor heard. I was a ghost haunting my own life.

I watched as a smaller, younger and apparently happier me ran up behind her awkwardly, giggling madly. I was all knees and hair and retainer in that stage, as I trailed behind her.

"Mom!" pre-teen me called out, exasperated, huffing and laughing. By that age I knew how ridiculous my mom was and was laughing at her. Mom ignored her, too.

I couldn't place this memory. I mean I remembered my mom speed walking down the bike path, but I couldn't remember this exact time. Until little me screeched and threw herself into the air, limbs waving wildly, face a mask of terror. I just caught a flicker of discoloration on the asphalt as the tail end of a snake disappeared into the foliage.

Ah. The snake. Mom whirled around at the screech, ready for a sprained ankle, probably. I had sprained my ankle at least a hundred times in middle school, to the dismay of my ballet mistress. When she saw that little me had not in fact hurt herself, but had been scared by a snake she rolled her eyes as if I were the absurd one.

"Oh, Honey. Stop it." She stopped walking forward, but her knees kept pumping up and down, exaggerating the movement and her arms thrust the tiny irons out and back infront of her chest.

When I didn't stop crying, completely beside myself at the mere sight of a snake, she pulled me into her sweaty thin body. From where big me stood, I couldn't hear what she whispered. But I remembered.

She told me that the snake was more scared of me then I was of him. It wasn't lying in wait to bite me as soon as I got close enough. He was warming himself on the pavement in the heat of the autumn afternoon sunshine when I came along with my big careless feet and nearly crushed him.

I have always been an anxious child and this occasion was no exception. It took her a good few minutes to calm me down, but when I was done clinging to my mom's back, sobbing into her collarbones over the near snakebite, I admit I was a little fascinated. I felt a moment of being bigger than my fear. I was the huge scary human and the snake was smaller than my arm and scared of me.

A cough. That death rattle of breath.

Loki. I barely blinked and was back in Stark Tower staring off into space, through the broken body of Loki. He coughed again and blood splattered over his chin. I had the scepter. He didn't. He was dying. I was going to live.

"Go somewhere?" He asked quietly. I raked my eyes over his face and found all traces of fear gone. He knew I wouldn't kill him with the scepter, not while he was down and hurt.

I wondered how long I had been staring through him and if he did this too. Did he use the scepter to look back at better times? At the bad times? Is this what fueled his hate? I had no idea what his life was like, and I had no imagination to picture it. But if he was bent on destroying an entire planet, and absolutely loathed his brother, I guessed his childhood hadn't been all sunshine and unicorns. I felt a swell of pity for this monster.

"Wha—" I couldn't even finish. I didn't take my eyes off the snake, now crushed under someone else's boot. He shook pathetically. I was not used to this, seeing weakness. I was usually the one crushed. I couldn't look away from it.

"You," he started and then coughed up more blood. "will never be satisfied here." He kept his eyes on mine. "You were…are meant for a better life." I shifted uncomfortably. "Gersemi, you are worth more…than," his eyes darted around, "this. You are a god, living the meager life of a human. Don't you understand?"

I didn't understand why he wasn't pleading for his life, for medical attention, for a way out of here, for me to help him escape.

"I only wanted to restore you." My eyebrows rose. He looked like the one that needed restoration. "…slime of a wolrd has done to you. made you _weak_." He spat the word. "Fearful. Full of self-doubt and loathing. I see it in you. You loath yourself."

He was right of course. My skin was tough though, after all this talking down that had been happening lately. I was already burnt and the tequila and scepter kept me from really feeling it. Bring on the flames.

"I want to save your soul."

"Save yourself." I mocked, and then regretted it. You don't tell a dying man to pick himself up.

"I am." He replied, calmly. He held out a hand. As if I would just pull him upright and he would walk off into the sunlight. But I still felt so bad for him. He looked like he wouldn't last ten minutes. I set the scepter down, far out of his reach, felt the world crush me a bit, and then hobbled over to him. I seriously doubted he could do anything to hurt me, but I still felt another spike of adrenaline getting near him.

His hand stayed extended as I lowered myself down to sit next to him. I very slowly slid my hand into his trembling, cold one. "Purpose." He continued. "is what you lack. You will not find that here. There is nothing here but greed and war and a gilded life of meaningless sorrow. You belong to Asgard."

I just watched him, his chest slowly rise and fall. I traced the sallow color of the skin of his hand, the bruising under the skin, the obvious signs of broken bones under his impressive Asgardian clothing.

"You doubt me? No matter. All doubt me. What if I told you of healing powers. You can mend your leg, you know."

My eyes shot to his face and he saw that I was hooked.

"I want you to heal your self body and soul. Break free from the bondage of fear and self-loathing. Reverse what your time here on Midigard has done to you. What those that oppose me have done to you."

"How?" I asked in a small, less than hopeful voice. It was true. Loki wasn't the one that hurt me, that had broken my leg and my career.

He smiled then, that slow wide grin, revealing straight, white teeth and the hope that had filled him. "You already are." He said simply.

When I had no words to answer but gave him a look that told him I was sure now he was a liar, he continued.

"I am. As we speak, I knit myself together. Our bodies are far superior to human. Have you been struck with illness? Have you injured yourself and been incapacitated for long?"

I hadn't been sick that I could remember. I blamed not one missed day of school due to sickness on my mother's organic ways. And all those sprained ankles had only troubled me for a couple of days. I was feeling uneasy now. I was realizing, yet again, a whole new world of truths were opening up for me. I listened to his steady breathing. He was not coughing up blood.

I wiggled my toes in my boot. And felt no pain. How long had it been since it actually hurt me? He pulled his hand out of mine and I jumped as he began to pick himself up. I scrambled backwards, heart pounding. His face contorted in pain, and he moved no farther than to prop himself up on his elbows. I snatched up the scepter, before he could do more.

"Come now. Still don't trust me?" We watched each other, at impasse.


	10. Surrender

**Sorry! I am ****_le ashamed_****. I have no excuse for the tardiness of this chapter. I hope these last couple of weeks have been good for you, the have been for me. We are drawing nearer and nearer to the end. But there is always hope of a sequel : )**

**Happy happy reading! And reviewing ;)**

**-Coy**

* * *

**Remembered**

**Chapter 10: Surrender**

It was more of a joke than a question, but still didn't know the answer. Did I trust him? How could I? He made me kill Luke. He was the reason SHIELD detained me. He was the bad guy. Right?

Then again, how couldn't I trust him? He was the only one to tell me the truth. This whole thing was giving me a headache. Or was that the tequila?

I glanced up into his face, daring myself to trust him, knowing deep down that this dare was unwise. He read plainly my internal war. He knew he had a grip on me, a handhold. He could use me. A pawn in his maniacal games. Again.

"You did say you believed in me," he prodded lightly.

Did I? I didn't remember saying that, or even thinking it. An image popped into my head. I was holding onto Loki, watching the world burn from the top of Stark Tower. I remembered. "No, I said I _believed_ you." When he didn't answer, when he just sat there, apparently 'knitting' himself together, I added, somewhat vaguely, "About it all."

There was a pause while he considered this. His eyes were serious now, calm and calculating. I wondered if he was deciding the best way to use me. I couldn't find it in me to come up with a counter plan. Instead my headache grew in the quiet space between me and him.

"Why do you place misguided trust in them?" he finally said. I knew who he meant-SHIELD-and yet I couldn't answer him. For a second, I had no idea why I chose Iron Man, Thor, Romanov, Captain America and the Hulk over Loki. And then I remembered one very important small detail: Loki's plan was to destroy the world. It was this fact that kept me from trusting Loki. His actions had brought death.

That's when I figured out that Loki really wasn't all bad. He wasn't evil, or at least he hadn't always been evil. He had the power to destroy, yes, but he also had the power to create.

"It's easier to destroy than to create." I said. Could he be persuaded to join the light side again?

"A decision may be difficult, but it is not always right." He easily traced my line of thought.

"How is murder right?" I countered.

"Is a cat catching a mouse murder? I believe your laws dictate that murder is when one worthless human kills another. And if I recall correctly, it was you who killed Luke."

It knocked the wind out of me. I bent forward, hollowed by the shame guilt and horror that re kindled in my chest. He took advantage of my moment of weakness and sat up, drawing his legs under him.

"I. I could kill you," I threw at him. It was the best I could muster. And I could. I had his scepter.

He grinned. "Now that would be murder."

He was right. And I didn't want to kill him. I would have his blood on my hands, too. I wanted someone else to take care of him, sweep him under the rug, squash him like a beetle. Why did Romanov leave me here alone? I felt a rush of annoyance that rivaled my headache at her decision to leave me by myself without actually knowing where Loki was.

"Execution, I would say. Prisoner of war and all that." A voice intoned behind me. I gasped, shocked with adrenaline and lost my balance. I dropped the scepter, choosing to catch myself with my hands, but before I reaching the ground, someone's hands caught my fall.

I found myself looking into the blue eyes, the square jaw line of Steve. I didn't move, partly embarrassed, partly buzzing with the unexpected, and partly enjoying myself surrendered in strong arms. Before I could use Steve to stand myself up, I caught sight of the huge grimacing green face of the hulk, towering over the top of Steve's head.

My legs went weak and I nearly peed my pants in fear. Steve's face reacted to my terror. He glanced up and behind, shifted slightly so that he was in between me and the monster, and pulled me upright and closer. I kept my eyes on the hulk, waiting for it to rip us to shreds in anger. After a moment, though I realized it really wasn't paying me any attention. I could hear the rough cadence of the giant grinding its teeth, its fists clenching and unclenching on their own. It wanted to smash something, anything, but its eyes were trained on Loki, who didn't seem surprised to see Captain America and the hulk.

I was surprised, though. I was damn surprised. I found myself surrounded by several people, all battle ready, armed to the teeth. Iron Man stood in front of me, hand raised in threat of a blast. I had no idea how they had silently and instantaneously surrounded me, as if they had just appeared out of thin air. And did they just fly in through the broken window? How long had they been there?

Iron Man stood to my right his head naked to the world. Thor was to my left, watching his brother and looking as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. His face appeared old, to me then, aged by grief and responsibility, but not weak. Never weak.

The next face I recognized was the man on the helicarrier who fought Romanov, with the bow and arrows. My hand lifted on its own and all I could do was point at him make this pathetic sound between a meow and a cough. The man's face turned slightly at the noise, revealing different eyes, not icy blue like before, and he winked with almost too much subtlety for me to believe it happened.

"He's on our side now." Steve told me as he released his grip on me, bent to retrieve the fallen scepter. I struggled to control myself as he handed it back to me. I wanted to snatch it back, greedy for it's security. I forced my hands to move slowly, nonchalantly. He stepped away from me, putting a tiny space between us. I didn't like it.

Romanov made up the rest of _our side_, the group surrounding me, all facing Loki. It was seven against one, if you included me, which you should because I had the scepter of doom. _Our side_ was this assorted bunch of superheroes, gods, monsters and a couple odds and ends.

It had been Iron Man who spoke first, I realized, his voice rang like a memory in my head: execution. Was that what they were here for? Not really to rescue me, of course. Just to bring in the bad guy. I got what I wanted: somebody to take care of Loki for me. Now why wasn't I relieved?

Loki, on the other hand, was relaxed beyond belief. Six superheroes all pointing their weapons at him, all he said was, "If it's all the same to you, I think I'll have that drink."

You have to hand it to him: the guy's got balls.

"We have him." Romanov and Bow-and-Arrows intoned at the same time. I caught a quick, furtive look between them. It was enough for me to pick up that there was something between them. Something more than just a look. I was still annoyed at Romanov for leaving me here all alone with Loki and for treating me like a retard, but now this new side of her interested me enough to feel warmth towards her.

"Leave this to me." Thor stepped forward, towards Loki, who flinched back at the movement. Thor paused for a moment, regarding his cowering brother with obvious pity. "Brother," his voice broke. It was a question, an accusation and an invitation all in one word.

Loki didn't answer him, hatred etched in his eyes. Thor continued forward, sighed and then dropped his hammer on Loki's long green cape, trapping him where he sat. It was hard to watch. After all of this, after the near destruction of the entire world, Thor still hadn't given up on him. And despite all of Thor's forgiveness, patience and blatant love, Loki did not give in to him, choosing instead his stubborn and idiotic pride.

While I thought this through, I realized I sympathized with Loki, in a twisted, sick way. I wanted to know what had happened to him to harden his heart to this degree.

A strange, strangled sound drew my attention back to the hulk. I watched in half fascination half horror as the monster shrunk and morphed, doubled over in pain. The wildness in his eyes raised the hair on the back of my neck. A man's cries came out of the hulk's mouth.

"Welcome back Dr. Jekyll." Tony said after a minute of this.

Dr. Banner was completely naked, bent over, his hands on knees, his face ashen. I immediately removed my eyes and fixed them on Tony who continued to tease him.

"No need to show off, Bruce. I have something you'll fit into. Not that we, uh, are the same…_size_."

I blushed, not knowing for sure if that was an innuendo or if my mind was just dirtier than I had realized.

"I'm more hero shaped, if you know what I mean." Tony continued. He lowered his hand, taking his weapon off of Loki and moving though the crowd.

"Tony." Bow-And-Arrows admonished. He hadn't taken his eyes off Loki, even when Bruce morphed. Now that Thor clearly had his brother under control, the new guy sheathed his weapons with smooth expertise. Everyone visibly relaxed and I felt a tiny bit less safe. With their shields and weapons down I saw how exhausted everyone was. Steve looked like how I felt. And I felt like shit. Sobriety sucks.

"Here." Tony returned from down the hall, still dressed in the Iron Man suit, and threw a wad of clothing at Bruce. I heard the soft thud as Bruce caught it behind Steve and I. I kept my eyes on Tony, and to my dismay, he moved towards the bar. My stomach clenched as I desperately tired to come up with something clever to get him out of the bar and away from my personal crime scene.

He paused, picked up part of the lime I hadn't thrown away, his face doing this blank, shrewd expression. I bit my tongue, racking my brain to come up with something. He set it back down, not commenting.

"Is it shawarma time?" he asked.

"S.H.I.L.E.D. is coming to take Loki into custody." Replied Romanov from the couch next to the still sleeping form of the old guy. Those couches must be magical, entrapping all who fell asleep on them, making them dead to the world. They looked awfully good to me. I was due for another nap soon. Especially since all the alcohol had been used up. She checked the old guy's pulse.

"What happened to Dr. Selvig?" Bow-and-Arrows asked, walking over to sit near Romanov, who betrayed me by looking pointedly at me. Everyone's eyes followed her gaze to me. They waited for an explanation. Even Steve looked at me with a mixture of disapproval and astonishment.

"I didn't do it!" I burst out, sounding guilty.

"Just like you didn't use my favorite shot glass?" Stark held up the evidence, still wet inside form when I rinsed it. "Who is she, again?" he asked the room. I was mortified.

"Gersemi, daughter of Odin." Loki spoke up, bringing the attention back to himself.

"Excuse me?" Bow and Arrows said from the couch. I wondered if he knew what those words meant.

"Siri." I amended weakly. "Nice to meet you." I squeaked, trying to lighten the mood.

"You…" Steve's face got worse. God, I hated when he was upset with me. I was such a people pleaser. "You're…" he looked at me in that , betrayed, kicked puppy way, and then looked at Loki and Thor. "He's…" Steve pointed at the two other Asgardians. "You mean to say…this whole time?" He finished.

"No!" I tried to reassure him. "It turns out I am…something else."

"You were _something else_ the entire time." Loki said, not helping my case at all. In fact, he was making it worse, sitting there looking at me as if we were just cracking some inside jokes. Old friends. Brother and sister.

"I wasn't with him!" I pointed at Loki. "Well, I was with him, but not _with_ with him."

Steve's eyebrows rose further, almost receding into his hairline.

"Wait, wait, wait," interjected Stark, "go back to the part where you used my favorite shot glass."

"I'm really sorry!" I told the room, aiming at Stark. "I drank your tequila, too. I left an IOU with Jarvis-"

Stark sighed loudly. I was so embarrassed. I desperately needed these people to like me. To keep me alive.

"I have this thing with germs." Stark said, setting the shot glass down. "Why tequila? It's so south of the border."

I couldn't answer. I glanced up again, into Steve's face. Yep. We were back to him thinking I was insane.

"Are they here yet?" a quiet, almost groan, spoke up from the floor. A now dressed Banner was slumped against the back of one over turned couch. His eyes were closed and I wondered if he had maybe just talked in his sleep.

"Right? That's was I was saying." Stark agreed. "I'm starving. And I have this thing with waiting."

"What's your ETA, Fury?" Romanov asked into her earpiece.

As if in response the elevator pinged.

"Jarvis, aren't you supposed to alert me when there's a breech in security?" Stark asked.

"My apologies." Jarvis said, not really sounding at all apologetic.

Director Fury and two unfamiliar agents stepped out of the elevator. Clint and Romanov stood at attention. Steve turned, too. Was he loyal to S.H.I.E.L.D.? Or was he a sort of freelance superhero?

"Great of you to finally join us, but the party is over." Stark said. "And you aren't invited to the after party. And I have a thing with party crashers."

Fury ignored him, taking in the scene, lingering a moment longer on me and my scepter, then silently strode over to Loki.

"I would read you your rights," Fury addressed Loki, "But frankly, I don't give a shit about your rights. And this ain't the boy scouts."

What did this have to do with the boy scouts?

Fury waved one agent forward, who produced a strange strappy contraption, that reminded me of Stark's goggles I had lost some where in the last half hour.

Great.

"Ant," Fury continued, crouching to meet Loki's eye level. "Meet new boot."

Loki didn't struggle. His eyes, however, sought mine as Fury untangled the straps.

"Any last words?"

A knot tightened in my chest. This didn't feel right. I knew he was the bad guy, that he deserved this, whatever it was, but I pitied him. His words had gotten a hold of me, wrapped like tentacles around my heart, poisoning me with…truth.

I shivered, locking my eyes with his.

"It's over." He said directly to me. "But not all is lost."

"Wait." Thor stepped in. I looked at the big blonde man, my brother, with relief. He wouldn't let them kill Loki, would he?

"It wont harm him. This is just to tame his tongue. And keep him happy." Fury explained to Thor. Thor reluctantly stepped aside, watching in defeat as they slid a mask over Loki's nose and mouth, tightening the straps around his head. I got that the mask would keep Loki from talking, but I didn't understand what he meant when he said keep him happy. Until I heard the hiss, the sound of gas being released. Loki's body sort of relaxed, the last reserve of fight leaving him in a slow fade.

The small, ugly, twisted sense of camaraderie I felt for the man-brother-that had been the one to reveal a whole new world, choked me up. Now really wasn't the time to make the rest of these people think I was _with_ with Loki. But Thor caught me in my sadness. I thought of the saying, _misery loves company_. Thor and I can go be miserable together.

"Let's jet." Stark said, breaking the tension. "And when I say 'jet' I mean I will jet and you will take a car." He was already walking to the wall size hole where the window used to be. "But not the Lamborghini. She's off limits. Pepper like her. Speaking of which—" his helmet slid over his face and he was gone.

"Do you really think it's open?" Bow-and-Arrows asked out loud, looking out at the smoking city.

"It's all the way across town. And we just saved their asses. The least they can do is cook us dinner." Romanov smiled at him. "Coming Banner?"

Did Banner miss everything with his eyes closed? His head was lolled forward. At the sound of his name, it jerked up. He grunted, rolled over to a kneeling position and stood up slowly, painstakingly.

"Cap?" Romanov asked. I looked up to Steve glumly. I knew what I should say: you go ahead; I'll be fine. But I didn't believe it. Despite the fact Loki had been captured, that the world was officially not ending, I still felt uneasy. I even felt worse. I had this sneaking suspicion that S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't done with me. I wanted Steve to stay here and like me and keep me safe from Director Fury and whatever reality that awaited me. But that was unfair to him. He didn't know me, and he didn't owe me anything.

His eyes roamed over my face, trying to read my thoughts. _Don't go, don't go, don't go._ I thought at him.

"Go on, Rodgers, we'll take care of her." Fury said, confirming my suspicions. They were "taking care of me" like they were "keeping Loki happy."

Steve's hand reached out and patted my shoulder, an awkward measurement of comfort. He gave me a reassuring smile that I did not return. I watched him and Thor reluctantly get in the elevator. Even Thor was leaving me? And he was leaving Loki?

Clint and Romanov moved over to let them in the elevator. They remained side by side, shoulders nearly touching. Banner leaned into one corner, a hand rubbing his forehead over and over as if he could wipe away all that had happened. Thor took up half the elevator, his eyes still on Loki. Steve squeezed in, in front of Banner. He turned to face us, hands clasped behind his back. He was the last face to disappear behind the sliding metal doors.


	11. Solid Ground

**Here's a fast update for ya! Thank you for your reviews, they kept me afloat on the writing river this week!**

**-Coy**

* * *

**Remembered**

**Chapter 11: Solid Ground**

Light slipped into the room in tiny streaks, escaping underneath, above, and between the drab floral curtains. I stared at it, attracted to it like a flame, wondering how far it was to the windows, how many steps it would take. How many hops would I have to spring?

More light, a different kind, flickered in color shadows across the walls and the copy of a painting of a small town that hung above my head. This, jumpy, flashy light was hard to watch because it came from the muted TV set I had turned on as soon as I woke up. I fingered the rubbery buttons on the remote control in my hand as I tried to ignore the images a news station was bringing of what had happened.

My jaw hurt from clenching it as I watched the pretty brunette broadcaster explain again about an alien invasion, about superheroes, about destruction and money and trapped people and people who said they saw Iron Man up close and people who lost their children in the chaos. After a watching the same images over and over I realized why I was so uncomfortable. I was mad, and I wasn't sure why until I muted the TV and thought it over.

I was pissed off at the broadcaster who said everything with a crease in her forehead but sounded like a badly tuned piano. I knew by looking at her that she had no idea what had happened, not really. She wasn't there, wasn't terrified for her life, and hadn't been sure the world was finally ending. And how the hell did she get to tell everyone not only second hand stories, but third hand? She was somehow making what happened fit into a logical box and time frame. She was distant, and distancing me from my experiences, in a way. If that makes sense.

I imagined someone on an airplane, a stranger, asking me where were you when the aliens attacked New York City? And I imagined telling them a dozen different stories. I was at home, taking a nap. I was in Australia at the Sydney Opera House, twelfth row back and the person to my left was snoring rudely. I was trapped in my car and Captain America pulled me out. I never imagined telling the stranger the truth, because that is too bizarre and up close. It hurt too much and made me see myself in a bad light. And I couldn't process it or fit it into a logical box or time frame.

So I lay in the dark on top of the scratchy blankets, in an over sized men's pajama shirt and clean underwear. It had taken all of my patience and the last of my energy to get out of that deplorable jumpsuit and old underthings by myself. I had hurled the dirty clothes into the corner of the room farthest away and they sat there still, stinking, reminding me that I probably stunk too.

The shirt came from my own recovered suitcase. I didn't want to wonder how my suitcase got here, in this hotel room SHIELD had put me in. They would have had to know where I was staying in Germany, somehow get it from a dead man's residence, and fly it internationally to this particular hotel on the same day I was staying here. SHIELD was pretty good, I had to admit, to know that I was going to survive, and this hotel was going to be there after the alien invasion.

They hadn't come back for me, after leaving me in the hotel room. No one had knocked on the door or called my room telephone. Granted, I hadn't been awake all that long. But it was long enough for me to start worrying and thinking too much. It wasn't good to be alone. Not after the last few days. All I had was my own brain to keep me company, and I don't think my brain was in a good place.

I thought about the city, about the spaceships that were stuck on top on buildings and how anyone was going to be able to remove them. And once they were off of the buildings, what would they do with them? Put them in a museum dedicated to the attack? Study them and use them as weapons against other aliens? Blow them up?

I thought about home, dance, and then my mother, which got me to thinking about how complicated my family life was, now that I knew where I came from. Which made me remember Luke when he was brushing makeup onto my cheeks, telling me family was important, and this memory made me want to stop breathing. And then I thought about Loki. I didn't want to think too hard about him because I didn't know if I was sad he was in that mask or glad that he wasn't going to control me any more.

You get the picture. I was in a bad place. A low place.

I had the heels of my hands over my eye sockets to block out the light from the TV. I was listening to the sound of doors shutting in the hallway, of footsteps on thin carpet and squeaky wheels, and knew it was late enough in the day to where normal people had had at least one meal and a shower. I was so hungry that I didn't feel hungry anymore. It was just a muted grinding in my stomach that I was used to. My mouth tasted like hot trash.

It was enough to make me get up. I eased myself into a sitting position, changed the channel to cartoons, turned the volume on, and swung my legs over the side. I reached down to my suitcase, flung wide open on the floor right by my bed. A striped gray and green bag held travel-sized toiletries.

I made it to the bathroom, flipped the light switch and blinked in the fluorescent torture until my eyes adjusted. And then I wish I hadn't. I stared in horror at myself in the mirror.

Oh my god, it was bad. It was like horror movie disgusting. My hair was matted and obviously greasy, hanging past my shoulders in one frizzy clump. My face was going to need more than a good wash to fix it. My skin was pallid and dry and I wasn't sure if it was the lighting, but my bones stood out and made shadows where they shouldn't.

No wonder nobody took me seriously. I looked like a homeless drug addict on stilts.

I knew immediately that I was going to find a way to take a shower, metal boot or no metal boot. I opted to fill the tub and hope I could keep my leg propped high enough out of the water. As soon as I was standing on my good leg in ankle deep water with my metal foot awkwardly propped on the lip of the tub I knew I was in trouble. The metal boot went all the up my thigh and it was hopeless to think that I could keep it dry if I sat down.

I was so _blonde_ sometimes.

I couldn't believe I hadn't foreseen this problem. I started laughing then. And not a quiet snickering. I was cracking up at myself and predicament, stuck stark naked, looking homeless, in a slippery tub. My howls echoed sharply off the narrow walls of the bathroom. It felt good to laugh and I forgot to care about who heard me over the babbling of the tub filling.

I made a decision then, and plopped down into the water despite the boot. My legs were too long to stretch out, so I kept the metal leg on the lip of the tub and bent the other. If it felt good to laugh, it felt one hundred times better to wash my hair, despite a tender spot on the back of my head. I washed it three times just because I could. When I was clean and shaved, when the water was cooling, I very carefully got out and toweled the metal dry first, hoping there wasn't any damage. Wrapping the towel around my body, I assessed the damage in the mirror. A sigh escaped my throat at the thought of brushing out my long, fine, tangle-prone hair, but it had to be done. Dread locks were a fashion statement, rat's nests weren't.

So I took up my weapon of choice, hairbrush, and started at the bottom of my dripping hair. It took a lot of patience, pain tolerance and endurance. I had to sit on the toilet after a while, because my leg started to ache. Clumps of hair came out of my scalp and I winced guiltily. I knew it was pretty bad to brush out wet hair because it was easier to break, but there was no way I was waiting for the mess of it to dry. It took my so long that by the end, my hair was nearly dry.

When I was done, and I had emptied the hairbrush of loose, broken strands, I stood. I felt much better. There was always hope in the world if there were hot baths and hair brushes.

I hobbled over to my suitcase, not bothering to turn on the lights in the room. Instead the florescence from the bathroom spilled onto grey carpet, illuminating my path well enough. The cartoons were a welcome distraction and kept the silence from consuming me again.

I had a few options from my suitcase, but I soon realized that my stupid leg was going to narrow those options. My two pairs of jeans were out, as well as the red corduroys. I had one skirt, but I wasn't going to wear it, probably ever again. It was the one Luke had talked me into wearing that night. It was in plastic bag along with the jewelry I had been wearing, the shirt and…my purse and phone!

I ripped open the plastic seal and quickly riffled to the bottom, pulling out my purse. I stuck my fingers into a small pocket usually reserved for keys or phones and slipped Chap Stick out. I ran the small comfort over my lips, now very happy. Now that I had Chap Stick, the world was a much better place. All I needed was something to wear, some food, and then I could start to unravel the tangled mess my life had become.

I didn't look at my phone. It was too much of a reminder of how out of touch I was with what I thought was reality.

I had shorts to wear. They were dirty because I had worn them on my one day in Germany, but they were better than sweat pants. I had to sit on the bed to dress myself, bend at the waist, and thread the material over the metal and then slip my real leg in afterwards.

A knock at the door froze my limbs as I was pulling on a long sleeved shirt, that I had to roll up to three quarters length because of my octopus-like arms. So they hadn't just left me here. It took me two seconds to answer.

"Hold on!" I called, pulling down the hem of my shirt. There was no answer. I flipped the lid of my suitcase closed to hide the mess and hobbled over to the door. I bent down to look through the spy hole expecting a SHIELD agent. I blinked in surprise. It was Steve. In normal-person clothes.

I flicked the light switch at the last second, realizing how weird it would look if it was dark inside. Slipping the dead bolt to the unlock position, I pulled the door open.

I don't know what Steve was expecting to see, but he looked just as surprised as I was. He stared at me, as if he didn't really recognize my face, his eyes traveling down and back up. Like he was trying to decide if I was an imposter. I shifted in the uncomfortable silence. He had only seen me at my worst, without Chap Stick, a hairbrush or hope. My reflected image of a homeless, rat-infested hair of a beanpole was fresh in my mind.

"Hello," I prompted, feeling a little annoyed at his blatant gawking.

His eyes darted to mine. He blushed, and then pulled himself together, squaring his shoulders.

"Hi. I, uh, came to see if you were hungry," he offered as if he were offering a steak to a lion. The look on his face made me want to laugh and cry at the same time. He was expecting me to have a bad reaction to his presence. I must seem really really crazy to him.

"Yes," said as normally, tamely, as possible. "I am." Honestly I thought I was going to keel over from starvation. "One second." I turned, holding the door open until Steve propped it open with his hand. I found a slip on shoe, turned the TV off and hopped back to the door way. He watched me silently, flipping the lights off as I passed him, into the hallway.

I hopped forward eagerly, letting the door shut behind me, before I realized that I didn't have a room key. He saw my hesitation, but didn't say anything.

"Do you," he cleared his throat. "Do you need me to carry you?"

I felt my face heat. "No!" I said a little too harshly. He looked like that was the reaction he was expecting from the beginning. "Sorry!" I added hastily. "I can walk. Sort of. It's just that I don't have a room key. I'm locked out." I gestured over my shoulder.

"Oh." He looked over my shoulder for a moment, thinking. "I could break it in for you."

The look on my face made him laugh. He was joking. I felt myself smile. He was better looking when he was smiling.

And that is saying a lot.

I turned to walk down the hallway. When he didn't follow I stopped and looked at him. He was still smiling, watching me struggle. I scowled.

"Well?" I demanded. I could walk on my own. There was no way I was letting him carry me around like an invalid, like he did on the helicarrier.

He wiped the grin off his face and pointed the other way down the hall. "This way, miss," he said in mock politeness. We walked in relative silence. My metal stump thumped all the way down the hall.

"How's the leg?" he asked as we turned a corner.

"Actually, it's fine, I think."

He looked at me for further explanation.

"I am pretty sure, or at least I was told that it would heal itself." His eyebrows rose. "It's doesn't hurt anyway. If I could just get this blasted metal contraption off."

"Heal itself?"

It sounded silly and impossible when he said it.

"Yeah. Loki said Asgardians have regeneration powers. Well, not in those words."

Steve stopped to knock on a door. "I get it," he said to me. "I have the same powers."

The door opened; most of Thor's body was framed by the opening. Half his face was cut off from view. He stooped like a giant to look out and smiled kindly when he saw us.

"Hungry?" asked Steve.

"Famished. A feast is in order for this weary body. I could eat a score of…" he paused his eyes squinting in thought. "Hambirds?"

"Hamburgers." Steve corrected. "Me too, friend."

I didn't doubt that either of them could eat a score of hamburgers or hambirds.

Thor ducked his head and squeezed out into the hallway, and the three of us lumbered along.

"Sleep well?" Steve asked Thor, the essence of politeness.

"The quarters were adequate," was Thor's response. His face said otherwise. "And how are you, fair Gersemi?" I nearly slipped. And that idiotic name hurt me, but I didn't have the heart to tell him not too call me that.

"I'm, uh…_well_."

"Good." He nodded.

The elevator was cramped. I was wondering where we were going to eat. And what. At this point I could go for anything. I mentally slapped myself, remembering that I had left my purse in the room.

"I," I stepped out of the elevator an into a generic hotel lobby. "I don't have my purse…" I bit my lip, wondering if it was easy to get a new room key from the front desk.

"Nonsense. I couldn't let a lady pay." Steve steered me towards a small café-like restaurant adjacent to the lobby. The hostess looked worried as we approached. The young lady eyed my metal leg, and then moved quickly to Steve and then to Thor who flanked me like extremely good looking blondish bodyguards in jeans and tees.

"We are with the Sesame Street party." Steve said with a straight face, to the girl whose heavily made up eyes kept jumping nervously from Thor to me to Steve. She swallowed and nodded and turned on her heel. I guess we looked intimidating. I thought then, did she recognize Thor and Captain America? That would explain why she looked so alarmed.

"To Sesame Street!" Thor boomed at the hostess as we followed her through the tables. I watched a dozen heads lift and stare at Thor, some in humor, some in confusion.

I sniggered. Thor was turning out to be a real hoot.

"Don't ask. It was Clint's idea." Steve murmured into my ear, from behind. I felt his breath on the back of my ear. He smelled like a peppermint.

Did Steve even know what Sesame Street was? I was going to have to look up how long Sesame Street had been airing, when I got the chance.

And who was Clint?

She led us to a long table made up of a bunch of smaller ones pushed together. Waters were poured at every spot and fog beaded up on the outside of the glasses. Romanov sat with Bow-and-Arrows, (Clint?). He was in normal clothing, she in her leather get up. I guess she never relaxed. Director Fury sat to her left, also still in his trench coat and eye patch.

Well, I guess the eye patch was not exactly a costume choice.

Another lady, pretty and dark-haired, was seated on the other side of Fury. She was in a blue uniform and her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. They were all seated on one side of the table, facing our entrance.

I felt shy then, for some strange reason. Like I wasn't supposed to be here, didn't belong. These people were heroes. I slowed as we approached. Thor eagerly sat down on the end of the table. It made him look like the authority figure, the dad, if you will.

Steve had to slow when I did. I felt one of his hands fold over the top of my shoulder. He nudged me forward. Fury didn't look up as Steve pulled the chair out for me. I sat down next to Thor, across from the man I was now sure was Clint, careful not to bang my metal leg into the legs of the table, chairs or the people already sitting.

"Waiter-ess!" Thor pronounced the word in three syllables, as if he wasn't quite comfortable using it. The hostess stopped in her tracks before she could escape. She turned around and faked a smile, waiting for the request.

"We shall require coffee." Thor grinned, totally disarming her with his charm.

_Yes we shall,_ I silently agreed, gleefully.

She nearly curtsied, looking a bit love-stricken and practically ran to the kitchen. Steve sat down to my left and took a sip of his water. I picked up the cold sweaty glass and downed it all in one long sip. The ice nudged my lips as I gulped, and I shivered as I set the glass down. I panted, and wiped my mouth, fighting a burp.

It was eerily silent at our table. I looked up and found that they were staring at me with varied forms of amusement. Except Thor. He look kind of proud. I froze.

"Thirsty?" Clint asked sarcastically.

"Um," was all I could say. Worse, Steve slid his own glass over for me to have.

"Where are Tony and Bruce?" Romanov voiced in exasperation.

Fury sighed heavily and pointedly in response.

"Coffee?" The hostess returned with a tray laden with small cream-colored steaming mugs. She set the first one down in front of Thor, leaning closer to his arm than she really had to. Thor's eyes followed the coffee. She moved to me next and I picked mine up immediately, wrapping my fingers around the smooth porcelain, grateful for the warmth.

"Why don't you just bring out a whole pot." Fury told the girl, who didn't seem to like to look him in the eye patch. "Hell, bring three." He added, eying the rate coffee was disappearing between Thor and me.

When Tony did arrive, the whole atmosphere changed. He brought Bruce, who looked chagrined but well-recovered from his Hulk experiences, and Pepper Potts who pursed her lips as she took in the restaurant. Tony, probably the most recognizable and most famous of the group, did nothing to disguise himself. He flaunted expensive sunglasses and a crowd of paparazzi that stopped at the hotel lobby and were ushered out by the hotel staff.

It was obvious that Tony and Steve couldn't handle sitting next to one another, so Bruce sat next to Steve, then Pepper slid into her seat with her pencil skirt and perfect strawberry blonde hair. Tony sat on the other end of the table, opposite from Thor. Two waitresses flurried about, taking coffee orders, now realizing just how important their guests were. I even saw the chef poke his head out of the kitchen and snap a shot of us with his phone. I ducked my head after that, extremely uncomfortable with the idea that my face could be on the tabloids.

Or worse, on Tumbler.

I shrunk in my seat, focusing all my attention on my coffee. I poured milk out of a silver pitcher, into my half empty cup, filling the mug up, instantly regretting it because now my warmth was gone. I ripped and dumped sugar packets into the cup, one by one, not bothering to stir.

The superheroes all greeted each other loudly, making more of a scene than I thought possible. I began to wonder if I could get away quietly and eat at a different table and pretend I wasn't with them.

Don't get me wrong. I was proud to know them. Honored. They did an amazing thing, keeping our world from burning to the ground. But the attention was embarrassing, even if it wasn't directed at me.

It was making me feel shaky. I did not belong with these people. They were too good, too courageous and too science fiction for me.

I reached for another sugar packet. Steve grabbed my hand, stopping it midway to my other hand. My eyes darted to his guiltily. He saw how crazy I was being, again, how I was going to have a melt down soon if something didn't change. I dropped the sugar, but Steve didn't drop my hand. We stared at each other for a second, completely overlooked in the five or six different conversations going on around us.

"Are you cold?" he asked me, and I barely heard him. I was, but that wasn't why my hands were shaking. I nodded.

He adjusted his grip on my hand, enveloping it in warmth. He held it firmly as he could just stop the tremors with sheer will power. Steve put our hands under the table.


	12. Anchor

**__****Hello Hello my loverly readers. Im on a roll, mostly because of a really nice review from Babyhilts. You types of people make it fun! And make me not want to kill myself. KIDDING. That was Siri speaking. I seriously need to get out of her head. It's depressing. And yet, kind of funny. **

**Anyway, enjoy the latest chapter of:**

* * *

**Remembered**

**Chapter 12: Anchor**

_**Staring down the stars**_

_**Jealous of the moon**_

_"Do you know what day it is?"_

_"Birdday!"_

_"That's right. And what happens on your birthday?"_

_"Candles!"_

_"Yes, you little pyromaniac," he laughs. "But what else? Do you receive gifts? Hmm? Does your brother spoil you?" He hoists me up suddenly and my head soars to the gold-painted ceiling. I squeal. I love when Loki flies me up._

_He sits me on his arm. I put my hands on the sides of his face and squeeze them together so that he looks like Chubby Bunny. His lips pucker and I pretend I am mad at him._

_"I am not a promiac! I shall tell all-fadder. Higher!" I scold and demand, lifting my arms above my head to show him I wanted to fly up. He rolls his eyes, but it's my birthday and he has to do what ever I tell him._

_"Soon," he promises, pulling away from my hands. His face gets serious, so I know I have to listen to him. "But first, I have something for you." _

_I clap my hands together as he holds out one of his own, a closed fist, but I can tell there is something inside. His fingers open and a pretty sparkly present is in his palm. It is a golden haircomb with lots of beautiful jewels on it that make a flower picture. I pick up the comb, in awe that I would get such a grown up gift. I hug Loki around his neck, smelling salty sea wind in his hair. I love Loki. He plucks it out of my hand and I feel it go into my hair. I touch it on my head and wonder if it looks beautiful._

_I gasp as he drops me into thin air and then catches me at the last second. I scream, clutching at his hands under my armpits. He flies me up._

_I have the best brother._

_"Loki! Don't drop her!" Another set of hands grabs me out of Loki's and lifts me even higher. I find my self-sitting on the shoulder of my other brother. I wrap my arms around his head, not wanting to fall off. It is very far down._

_"I am not scared, Dor." I tell him. Thor is the bravest in the whole entire Asgard and I want to be brave like him when I grow up and fight the bad guys. I never cry in front of Thor. _

_"Where is the birthday girl?" My arms are wrapped around his eyes and he flails his hands up and around, trying to find me. I cluch him harder, scared I will fall. _

_"Riding a gold-hair ass," says Loki, smirking._

* * *

_**You wish you could fly**_

_**But there's nothing you can do**_

_**If you're too scared to try**_

The last person I held hands with was Gabe. This was different. Gabe and I would intertwine our fingers as we walked. He would rub his thumb over the back of my hand, absentmindedly. It became second nature to us, to grab hands. When we broke up, my hand felt empty when I walked next to anyone. I had had to keep my fingers busy with a cell phone or a pocket or my hair.

Holding hands with Steve was unnatural. It was dangerous and raw. It was warm and chaste. Our fingers did not interlock. Our palms were pressed firmly against one another and the bones in my hand were beginning to ache. Steve's fingers were still as stone, as if he wasn't really paying attention to the physical contact. As if I wasn't a person, or a girl.

He was just tethering something down that was in danger of being ripped away by the wind. That's what it felt like to me. He was the only thing keeping me in my seat. If he let go, I would float away.

So when the food arrived a mere ten minutes after we'd ordered (I'm sure the cooks were sweating balls after getting ten plates of food out in record time) I did not let go of his hand. I fumbled with the fork in my left hand, scooping scrambled eggs into my mouth like it was nobody's business.

I let conversation wash over me, not following one or another. I enjoyed my breakfast until an itch on my leg forced me to relent my fork. My hand found metal, not skin, and I realized with horror, that I was going to have suffer the itch until it gave up. There was no way to reach the top of my knee under the metal boot. It was torture. I squirmed in my seat, nibbled on my toast, sipped my cold, sickly sweet coffee. I had to get my Iron Man boot off, and soon.

An idea came to me then. Tony Stark had to get out of his Iron Man suit somehow. Maybe he could pry the wretched contraption off of me. Before I got too scared I sat up straighter, leaned forward and down the table, past Steve, Bruce and Pepper. I felt Steve look at me in surprise.

"Mr. Stark?" He was lightly arguing with Pepper, pointing his fork at something on her plate. He stopped immediately, glancing up at me in surprise. I was not expecting the rest of the table to quiet down as well.

My cheeks felt too hot and I almost lost my voice when I saw that everyone was looking at me.

"What?" he asked after a second of waiting. I couldn't tell if he hated me, after the whole IOU thing in his tower, or if he was just impatient with my silence.

"Uh," I seriously should have just endured the itch. "I was wondering how you get your Iron Man suit off." I felt really lame and small. Looks of puzzlement shot at me from every direction. My face got hotter under the scrutiny, but I bravely kept my inquisitive expression turned towards Mr. Stark.

"First of all, call me Tony." He said. "And secondly, I have never been asked that before. Why do you want to know?"

"Um," I didn't know how to put this. I could feel Fury's eye on me. I felt certain that he wasn't going to let me take the boot off until one of his S.H.I.E.L.D. doctors examined me. I would have to do this without him. "Like I said, I was just wondering." I said, knowing that I sounded as shy as I felt.

"Stop by, and I will give you the tour," he offered. "but I can't be tossing out trade secrets like candy at the fourth of July."

I was confused. He was inviting me back? After that whole fiasco?

"Alright." I said uncertainly.

The itch bit me sharply, annoyed that I was ignoring it. I jumped in my seat and the table shook. Clint yelped in pain.

"Sorry!" I yelled, steadying Thor's water glass. "Sorry!"

How embarrassing. Stupid stupid moronic metal cast. Thor laughed at me, a big booming laugh that drew more unwanted attention.

"Don't worry about it." Clint said, his face not agreeing with his words. I probably broke his foot.

"I am so sorry." I said again, shrinking.

"Poor baby." Romanov patted Clint's face condescendingly, making him swat at her.

"Alright, Children, pipe down." Fury spoke up. When he had everyone's attention he sat taller. "Most of you know why we are here. A debriefing is in order. I reserved the conference room for that very purpose. Debriefing is mandatory, and is in," he checked his watch, "half an hour. Be there or feel my fury."

Romanov, Clint, and the agent next to Fury all groaned at the same time at the bad pun.

I had heard the word thrown around in military movies, _debrief_, but I really had no idea what to expect. Was it like an interrogation? A discussion? Lecture?

Before we had all filed into the secure conference room, it was clear that neither Stark, Pepper nor Banner were going to attend. I saw them walk straight out the front door, Pepper glancing back at Fury apologetically, holding her hand to her ear to signal that she would call him later. Fury didn't look surprised. The way Tony Stark saw it, he had been called in to consult, catch the bad guy, and was now finished and had no responsibility to SHIELD.

That left the lady agent, Clint, Romanov, Thor, Steve, and me. We had moved from the café to the conference room right after the chef insisted on footing the bill. He wouldn't have superheroes paying for a meal in his establishment.

There was a pitcher of water in the center of the long table with a stack of Styrofoam cups. Steve poured me a cup without asking if I wanted any, and then poured one for everyone else.

Director Fury cast an intimidating image, standing while the rest of us sat, in his trench coat and eye patch. He didn't look excited to be doing this. I felt a twinge of nervousness. Everyone else looked bored.

"As the director of SHILED it is my duty to administrate debriefing. The purpose, for those who are not familiar with this process," here Fury looked straight at me. "is to clear up any misconceptions concerning the mission and resulting incidents of the past week. The rules are, when I am speaking, you shut the hell up."

I almost laughed, but caught myself just in time, catching the giggle in my chest before it could bubble up my throat and out my mouth.

Fury picked up an electronic tablet from the table. The light from the screen glowed on his face. Then he proceeded to literally read through the events that had transpired, listing the facts one by one. If I thought the news broadcaster on TV was cold, this was glacier water.

Once I got over my astonishment of how scientific and thorough he was going to be, I realized that the list was quite interesting. I hadn't been around for what Fury deemed as the beginning. I hadn't known about Avenger's initiative. I had no idea about the tesseract and it's importance.

I began to realize that when he got to the part where I killed Luke, it was going to be horrible for me. I knew already what he thought of me, from when we had our little 'chat'. I steeled myself when it was time and did not allow myself to show how crazy it made me feel to hear it as if I hadn't been there.

One detail about Germany was new it me: Captain America had been the one to break my leg. When I hadn't put the scepter down he had thrown his shield at my leg. I don't know why this bothered me so much, but it did. I was hurt that he would keep this detail from me this whole time.

By the way, I had let go of his hand before we left the café. I hadn't floated away, like I thought I might.

Now I was glad I was not holding his hand. I felt betrayed. I thought he was my friend. He broke my leg, made me think that I would never dance again. That was unforgivable. I did not look at him, but his discomfort was palpable as he sat next to me. Waves of hostility rolled off me.

I understood, then, why Fury told us not to talk while he was. I wanted to make Steve explain himself and tell him how he ruined my life. I bit the insides of my cheeks to keep from exploding.

After the Stuttgart incident, the fact list turned away from me and focused on the Avengers, on Loki and the tesseract. I was again surprised to hear that he thought I had left the helicarrier willingly with Loki.

The whole thing made me look every bit as weak, self-centered, and cowardly as I really was. I was finally redeemed when Fury got to the part where I used the scepter to close the portal, but after he had acknowledged all the great things the Avengers had done, my accomplishment was an insignificant afterthought. Besides, it really didn't matter if the portal had closed or not. Iron Man had blown up the alien craft by the time I had done my part.

When Fury was finished with the recap, he set the tablet down, switching it off.

"Did I miss anything?" He asked the group, who had remained silent during the timeline.

Romanov, who Fury had referred to as Black Widow during the debriefing, said, "You forgot I had to go all the way to India by myself to convince the Hulk to join our little group." She said it with a little glint in her eye.

Fury sighed.

"What! That was a _disturbing event_." Her lips turned up into a teasing smile.

"Fine. Anything else?"

"I called down my lightning from the top of the tower Chrysler." Thor added. I wasn't sure if he really thought this was an important detail, or if he was just exploiting Fury.

"I kept the helicarrier afloat after the engines went out." The lady agent added smugly, obviously joking. I began to smile, too.

"And I did a lot more shooting than you made it sound like. I swear I went through so many arrows. Those things aren't cheap." Added Clint, not teasing. Fury had called him Hawkeye. I wondered why.

Fury rubbed his forehead. Steve was quiet beside me. I still couldn't bring myself to look at him but I could tell the frivolity was irritating him. So I piped up too. It was the most passive-aggressive way of getting back at him for breaking my leg.

"I was kidnapped."

At this Fury looked up, regarding me with a hint of interest. He said, "we took you into custody. That is a whole different thing than kidnapping."

"No. I mean Loki kidnapped me. I didn't just walk off the helicarrier with him. He stole me." I sounded annoyed, even in my ears.

And then a thought struck me. I had been kidnapped before, I just didn't remember it. From Asgard. I had been abducted so much that I should just be used to it by now.

If anyone else wants to snatch me, come at me.

"I see. Thank you for clearing that up. Now if no one else has a _real_ contribution we are skipping the next three phases because I know none of you are going to do the touchy-feely part where we hold hands and share emotions. And I don't want to hear it. That's what a shrink is for. I'm not your goddamed mommy."

No one objected.

"And for the last two phases I only require Siri and Thor. Before the rest of you get out, let me say this, even though I shouldn't have to: everything is classified as confidential. No one is to divulge any of these SHIELD secrets. Under the penalty of death."

He looked with his one eye, one by one, at each one of us.

"Now, scram."

I felt Steve hesitate as the others left the room. I didn't acknowledge him; instead I examined Thor for a sign of what was to come. I don't know why I didn't expect the following. Perhaps I really am a moron.

"It would bring glory to Asgard to carry you to your place of origin, Gersemi." Thor began. "A sinister shadow was cast, by the sorceress, obscuring you wholly from my father's sight, as he hunted for you, after you were captured. Mother mourned you twice over, as have we all. You cannot foresee the pleasure it would bring the all-father and our mother, Frigga, to have their vanished daughter resorted to them, after these agonizing years. On behalf of the all-father, and all the inhabitants of Asgard and all the realms beneath, I, Thor, Odinson, heir to the throne, god of thunder, and your devoted brother, welcome you home, if you would have us."

I felt all of the heat drain from my body, sucked out of me by the pleather chair beneath. What was he saying? Why couldn't I keep up? Was I that stupid? Was he speaking English?

"You want me…to" my eyes flicked between Fury and Thor, visually opposites, one very bright and one dark. "to…go?" I pointed up vaguely in the direction I thought Asgard might be, like where heaven was, or Never Never Land.

Second star from the right and straight on 'till morning. I had a vision of flying like Peter Pan, though outer space. My vision got violent when the natural vacuum-like state of space crushed me as soon as I left the safety of our atmosphere. I imagined myself drifting as space debris for a few hundred years before attaching to some comet or moon where my skin would melt off my bones as the heat of the sun touched me.

I didn't realize I was shaking my head until Thor said, "You refuse?" He looked terribly hurt.

"I, just don't…know if I could cope." I said very truthfully, hoping to explain to Thor well enough so that he could forgive me. "I barely get by here, on Earth. I get these panic attacks, just in the grocery store if it's too crowded. Going..." I struggled for the words, "somewhere so far and so unfamiliar would probably kill me."

"Oh please." Fury scoffed. My jaw dropped. I was telling the truth. "Give yourself more credit. You survived the last few days. Thrived, even. You helped save the world from an alien invasion and you are still here, still breathin'. And when was the last time you had one of your famous panic attacks, hmm? Siri, I would venture to say you've changed." He looked kind of smug.

"I…I…" I had nothing. When _was _the last time? Nearly in the café, but Steve had stopped that.

"Think it over. Sleep on it." Fury continued. "You have until tomorrow morning to decide."

"What's tomorrow morning?"

"Your departure time. Either you go with Thor, Loki and the tesseract, or you get shipped back to Aspen."

"What happens to the scepter?" I thought, suddenly. Fury looked at me curiously.

"It's yours," he said after a pause. "But we can't have you traipsing around with it, blowing up ski shops, slaughtering tourists, or whatever you'd do with it in Aspen."

I thought for a second and decided that at least some of the tourists would have to go. At least the ones who drove like ass-hats.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. will hold onto it for you. If there ever comes a time the world needs you or the scepter, we will get in touch. Unless you decide to man up and go with Thor. Then you take the scepter with you, and good riddance." I knew he was kidding about that last part. Or at least I hoped so.

"Get some rest," fury continued, standing up. I guessed the debriefing was over. "You are gonna need it." He held the door open for Thor and me, and the followed us out.

"Siri!"

Steve jumped out at me, giving me a heart attack. He had been leaning against the wall, waiting for the exact moment I reappeared. Thor slowed when he saw Steve. He looked at me for a long moment and Steve looked at Thor, waiting till he left to say what he wanted. Thor sized him up silently and then looked to me.

"Do you need my assistance to your quarters, Sister?" I realized then, that he was playing the role of protective brother. My heart melted.

"No, thank you, Thor. I can manage." I gave him my warmest smile, grateful for his concern.

"I will see that she makes it back safely." Steve said, and with that, my limit of accepting manly protection was reached. All I felt was annoyance at him.

I _said_ I could manage.

"See that you do." Was Thor's response. Then his face lightened. He liked Captain America too much to stay mad. He left us, following Fury out the lobby doors. Probably to go check on Loki.

"Siri." Steve said again, when we were alone.

"What."

"Just let me explain." He ran his hand through his hair.

"Okay." I grunted, wishing I had the balls to tell him that he could go fuck himself. Wishing I didn't feel a weird sense of owing him something for being nice to me and holding my hand.

"I didn't have a choice." I knew he was talking about Stuttgart. I turned down the hall, towards the elevator. I lifted my metal leg out in front of me and began my customary hop back to my room. He kept up with my slow pace. "You did not look like a friendly. And you wouldn't put the scepter down. There was a body at your feet. And then there was Loki, laughing, urging you on. I had to disarm you."

I sighed. He was right. And I had known it this whole time. But that still didn't stop me from being mad at him. I mean, seriously, he had to go for my leg? A dancer's worst nightmare. Why not aim to just knock the scepter out of my hand? So I let him babble on apologies.

"You don't know how it's torn me up." He said, getting dramatic as we stepped into the elevator. I fought the urge to roll my eyes. "I feel terrible, knowing I ruined your career. I couldn't have known you were just being bullied."

"What?"

"Loki was bullying you. I don't like bullies."

I thought that was weird way to look at it. I thought of a bully as a big mean kid at school that picked on the smart guys or the Glee club. Loki was a little worse than a misunderstood school child.

"Please accept my apologies, Siri. I can't stand the thought of loosing you…" a rush of warmth swirled through me. Wide eyed, I glanced at him, really looking at him for the first time since the debriefing. He gulped. It was almost fun to see the sturdy Captain America squirm. "As a friend." He finished.

I sighed as the doors slid open. I really couldn't blame him.

"Fine," I mumbled and hopped out into the hallway. A smile lit up his face, heating me further, until I didn't feel cold anymore.

"You accept?"

"Yeah." I said in my _duh_ voice.

"Say it." He demanded.

"Say what?"

"Say you forgive me."

"I forgive you." And I did.

He straighten up, looking more like Captain America, square shouldered, flat-backed, and confident.

"Oh shit." I said, remembering that I didn't have my room key. And we were nearly at my door.

He looked at me in surprise.

"Sorry." He probably wasn't used to my foul mouth. "I mean…_oh shoot_." I corrected, snapping my fingers. "I'm locked out." I gestured to my door.

He stopped immediately. "I will go get you a key."

I smiled gratefully. Before he was out of sight I called out, "Hey Steve." He turned around. "Do you forgive me?" His eyebrows furrowed. "I mean for the language."

He pursed his lips. "There's no need. I understand times have changed."

"Do you accept my apologies?" I pressed on.

"Sure." He shrugged, almost turning around again.

"Say it."


	13. Remembered

Remembered

Chapter 13: Remembered

* * *

**You've come too far**

**to turn around now**

* * *

I felt his presence go, trail after him like the smell of summer dusk. It faded from the hall and I was alone. I leaned against the wall next to my door and slid down to sit on short carpet, scratchy on the back of my leg. I was beyond tired. I was tired way back before that night in Germany. I was going to need about a month to sleep.

I didn't have a month. I had less than a day. What ever I chose, I had only until tomorrow to get ready for it. Choosing one of my options seemed an impossible, daunting task. I had to weigh my options, or draw up a list of pros and cons. I needed advise and time to sleep for a month on this decision.

I pulled my hair out of my face, twisted it once and let it fall over one shoulder. I picked at a split end, and then sighed knowing that I was trying to distract myself from thinking the impossible.

This was happening. One or the other. Either, or.

What would make me happy?

I pictured myself at home. I was at the kitchen island, alone. I was panicking because a stray thought of Luke could still bring me to the floor. I would be able to dance, as soon as my metal leg came off, and that could be my therapy, my way of coping with this option. I would have to explain to everyone at Aspen Santa Fe Ballet why I was gone so long. I would spend my entire life wondering what my real family would be like, what Asgard looked like and what kind of food they ate and what they did for jobs and what they did on their days off. I would never see Thor again. Or Loki. Steve wasn't going coming with me to Aspen.

I would be all alone except for Luke's ghost.

I could feel the tension in the creases marking my forehead. I smoothed my fingers over them-I was going to wrinkle early—and turned away from that lonely option. But I found I couldn't even imagine Asgard. I had no idea what it was like, if it was futuristic or medieval or something so alien I could never get used to.

How could I fit into a society like that? Was there dance? Or ballet? Because that was, seriously, all I was good at. I wouldn't have more of a purpose there than I would here. But I would know my family and they would know me. Was it a guarantee that they would love me? I would have to leave behind everything, my mother, my dog, dance, regular food, my friends, Steve. And not only would I have to leave them behind, I would have to put them away forever. I didn't know if I could get back if I hated it there.

And once my family of alien gods saw how weak and human I was, how I had embarrassing panic attacks, how could they want me around? If Loki thought I was disgusting, I probably was, to them. I would be the retard of the family, patronized at best. I would be in an inhuman world, with a family I didn't know or love, alone with Luke's ghost, with no way home. There had to be something else.

"I can't leave you alone for one second."

I hit my head on the wall behind as I looked up sharply to see Steve back with a plastic key card in hand. He was frowning at my slumped form. I held my hand out for him to pull me up and he did.

"Thanks," I said into his face, too close for comfort. I suddenly got self-conscious about my breath, which had to be a mixture of sadness, scrambled eggs and sugary coffee.

"No problem." His was cinnamon and comfort.

I turned to the door and Steve slipped the card in, unlocking it. The room was dark, and I was hit with uncertainty. I did not like the dark.

Steve reached around my motionless form and switched the lights on. There were no monsters. Still I didn't move from the doorway. He cleared his throat from behind me. God what was wrong with me? I hobbled in a few feet and he passed me, into the room.

I felt relief, just then realizing I had been afraid he was going to leave me alone again.

He went straight for the remote control where I had tossed it, turning on the cartoons, then sat down on the corner of my covers, transfixed by the colors and fast-passed, juvenile story line.

"Kids watch this now?" He didn't look away from the TV.

I hopped over to sit on the bed, next to him, but not too close. We watched an aqua platypus in a fedora.

"I guess."

He sighed and changed the channel, flipped through a few before settling on the news channel I had hated. I flopped onto my back and listened to the same recap as before. My task was impossible. I could never decide. I might as well toss a coin.

I rolled over and reached down for my purse and pulled out my phone. It was dead. I scooted over further and rummaged around in my suitcase for the charger, plugging it in. It took a moment before the screen lit up and an even longer moment before it started vibrating.

I held onto it, the weight and shape familiar in my palm. It kept a steady vibration, like a hornet caught, or as if the long stream of obscenities, all the worries, anger, and anything else my mother, my ballet master, Gabe, or my friends had left for me as voicemail, were shortened into this frantic buzzing electronic in my hand. I waited for it to subside for what seemed like forever. Steve's weight shifted slightly on the bed, looking back at me and my angry cell phone with a question in his eyes.

"Cell phone." I didn't know if he knew what it was.

"I have one of my own. Can't say I understand it or even like to turn it on."

I thought about it. "Yeah, me neither."

The vibrating stopped.

I had already decided that I wasn't going to listen to the messages. I knew what they would say and it would only make me feel guilty and panicky. Of course my mother would be at first annoyed, then angry and then worried. Of course I would get calls from the studio, asking where was I, when was I coming back, did I think I was going to keep my solo or my spot in the company if I didn't go to rehearsal or class?

I squinted so I wouldn't have to know just how many missed calls or messages I had to feel guilty for and went through and deleted every one. We sat for a while, Steve watching the news, and me systematically trashing voice mail until my phone was finally empty.

I swallowed. It was time to call my mom.

I found her contact info and put the phone to my ear, shifting away from Steve's view. It rang twice.

"SIRI!"

I pulled the phone away from my ear.

"Hi Mom." I offered sheepishly. I heard her tell someone in the background, that it was me on the phone.

"HI MOM? HI MOM? THAT'S WHAT YOU HAVE TO SAY? AFTER DAYS OF TORTURE THINKING YOU WERE DEAD, LYING IN A DITCH ON THE SIDE OF SOME GERMAN HIGHWAY, RAPED AND EATEN BY GYPSY PSYCOPATHS!"

I blushed. Steve had to have heard that.

"Mom! Calm down! I am so sorry I didn't call. I lost my…"

"DON'T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN!"

I winced.

"Sorry. I lost my phone charger in Germany and I…" I thought quickly, realizing I should already have a story ready. "My flight got bumped and I had to stay an extra day and then you wouldn't believe it but the next flight got bumped too so I had to stay in the Heathrow airport in London over night."

"AND YOU COULDN'T BUY A NEW CHARGER? AND AFTER THAT HORRIBLE ATTACK IN NEW YORK YOU COULDN'T MAKE IT A PRIORITY TO LET YOUR MOTHER KNOW YOU ARE ALIVE?"

Just from looking at my mom, you would never guess she was so vocal when upset. She is actually very pretty, younger looking than she should be from all the touch-ups she can afford. But she had a pair of lungs on her and could make herself be heard when she wanted to. This was probably why I was so averse to making a scene in public. At least I would never have to use the speaker function on my phone.

"I was going to, in Germany, but there weren't any compatible with American phones." I knew this was a stretch. I was fairly certain that this wasn't true. I bit my lip, hoping she didn't know better than me.

She was quiet for a whole ten seconds, but I could hear her crying and the murmuring of Walter's deep voice on the other end. I wondered, not for the first time, why Walter even stuck around. She was hot, yeah, but so high maintenance.

"I'm sorry I worried you."

She sniffed and blew her nose.

"I was _so_ worried."

"I will be home tomorrow." I offered her, even though I didn't know if that was true or not.

"Who are you with?" She asked suddenly, and in a new, steely, tone of voice.

"What?" I was sure Steve hadn't made a noise.

Oh. The news.

"It's just the TV. I'm in a hotel room."

She was quiet again.

"Who are you with?" The way she said it made me nervous. It wasn't like she was curious or worried. It was like she knew that someone was sitting next to me, and for some reason she hated that someone.

"N-no one." My voice betrayed me.

"I want you to tell me something, and don't you dare lie."

"Mom!" I did not have a history of lying with her. Besides, of course, this one big lie I had to cover up.

"Are you in New York?"

"What!" I was so taken aback that I couldn't answer. How could she know that? Why would she even think I was in New York?

I steadied myself. I had to make this count. She had to believe me. "I flew into Heathrow airport. That's England."

"WHY ARE YOU LYING TO ME? WHERE ARE YOU?" I pulled the phone away from my ear again, starting to feel very uncomfortable. My heart was pounding. I knew I was in trouble if I couldn't convince her.

"Mom! I'm fine! I'm safe! I will be home tomorrow!" I didn't think she heard me or was even trying to listen now. And I didn't know what to tell her. I really should have had a plausible story ready to tell her, if I wasn't allowed to tell her the truth. I covered the speaker with a finger, and let her get it all out, knowing I would probably hear it all again as soon as I got home. _If _I went home.

I slumped. There was still that decision. How could I possibly leave my mom? Sure she had Walter, but he was gone most of the time. She had her sister, Diana and her friends, but we had always been a pair.

And isn't it true that a mother is not just someone who gave birth to you? She is the one who painted your nails and baked cookies with you and snuggled in bed at night? _She_ was my mother, not the strange Goddess in Asgard. My mother may be crazy, overbearing and loud, but she was still my mother. I looked to Steve. He had been trying to ignore the conversation, not usually one to eaves drop, but my mother was hard to ignore even a thousand miles away.

I lifted my finger off the speaker.

"AND AFTER ALL I HAVE DONE FOR YOU?! HOW MANY FACELIFTS DO YOU THINK I CAN TAKE?"

"Mom."

She ignored me. This wasn't good. The only time she has gotten this bad was when I pushed for information on my parents. It made her feel unwanted, unloved and underappreciated.

I reached into my purse for Chap stick. The least I could do is hear her out. Something poked me under the fingernail. I pulled out, from the bottom of my bag, a hair comb I forgot I even had in my purse. It was a pretty little thing, gold with a flower design. It was a type of flower I didn't recognize, maybe tropical, long petals studded with gems.

I'd had it for as long as I could remember. I thought it might have come from my mother's first wedding. When I was younger, I pretended it came from my birth parents, like some cheesy movie. I didn't wear it much. It was too fancy to wear with jeans and it wouldn't stay in while I danced. It mostly lived at the bottom of my bag until, occasionally, I found it, pulled it out, wondered about it and then put it back in.

I had a feeling about it.

"Mom, you know that hair comb I have? The gold one?"

Miraculously, that stopped her short. It was enough of a change to shut her up.

"What about it?" She sniffed.

"Where did it come from?"

"I don't know. That antique shop that closed on Durant, maybe? Why do you want to know?"

I turned it over in my hand. There was not a mark on it, no manufacturing city name. And I knew that she knew that I hadn't purchased it. Now she was lying. Instinctively, I followed this, maybe hoping deep down that this lie would lead me to the real reason she was freaking out so bad.

"I just…I had it before you adopted me, right?"

She was quiet again, but not a nice quiet.

"Why do you want to know?" She snapped again.

I thought about it. "I don't know." I didn't know how to tell her I had a weird feeling about the hair comb. And I didn't know how to tell her I may never see her again.

"I love you." I told her, dropping the subject of the comb.

"Oh I love you too, honey. I'm sorry I freaked out. I just…can't loose you." I shivered, goose bumps prickling my bare leg. It was if she could read my thoughts, as if she knew where I was, who I was with and what I might be choosing between. Or worse, what I had done.

"You won't." I whispered, hating the maybe-lie.

"Promise?"

"I," I couldn't promise that.

Well, maybe I could. This could be my decision. Go home to my mother, who needed me to keep her sane, who I loved despite all her faults. But I knew I would be safe and loved.

"Promise," I finished.

That was it. I was going home. So why did I feel like crying?

"Hang on Mom, I have to go." I swallowed thickly. "I will see you tomorrow. OK love you bye." I hung up without waiting to hear her response.

I was acutely aware of Steve, then, silently sitting with his back to me, watching the TV. I had forgotten him. I wondered if he was uncomfortable overhearing our bizarre exchange. I didn't want to cry in front of him again.

This choice was the less selfish one. My mother needed me. It was obvious from the way she fell apart when I was gone for like five days. If I just disappeared, left with Thor, she would probably die. And I did not need anymore blood on my hands. It was a hard decision, but I had to choose something, right?

_A decision may be difficult, but it is not always right._

That's what Loki said. My brother. The one who told the truth. I would never see him or Thor again. It would have been nice to know what it would be like to have bothers and sisters, to have a big family. I had to have known a long time ago.

People remember things from before they were five, why couldn't I?

I let my head drop onto a pillow, and then pulled my legs up onto the bed, not looking at Steve. He had seen me way worse and he was still here, wasn't he? Why was he here? Was it just pity? Who cares? I was beyond tired.

* * *

**you've given up the good fight**

**you're strong as anyone**

**but you're back you started from**

* * *

I woke up with a start, looking wildly around the room. Before I could loose it for good, I closed my eyes and reached back as far as I could, into my own dream, snatching at colors, the smell of sea salt, a face. I had to remember. _I had to_. It was the most sure thing in my life right now, except for the scepter, of course. I knew that I had to remember what my dream was. I tried steadying my heart beat so I could fall asleep again. I burried my face into the pillow.

Something dug painfully into my hand. I couldn't ignore it. I pulled it from under the blanket and surrendered to the waking day. I squinted at the comb, still in my hand from when I fell asleep.

And then it was back, the smell of Loki. It was Loki's face in my dream, but it had been different, not as hard, not as cynical. He had smiled at me, but it was a different smile, one not laced with malice.

He had put the comb in my hair. It had been Loki, my brother, who gave me the comb.

And I remembered it.

I sat up, throwing off the blanket. I had to get to Loki.

A grunt stopped me short. My blanket and landed straight in the face of a man I didn't even know was there.

Steve. Steve had stayed the night. In my bed. I couldn't believe it. He did not seem like that type of guy. He was super old fashioned.

He was fully dressed, like I was, flat on his back, with the blanket in a puddle over his head. He pulled it off his face, squinting. It made me want to laugh. It took him a second to realize where he was.

In my hotel room. In my bed.

And then he scrambled up.

"I am sorry, Siri," he said rubbing his face with his whole hand. "I must have dozed off. I didn't realize…"

"It's fine." I smiled.

"No, please accept my apologies. I am not the type…"

"It's fine!" I interrupted. He looked at me for a second. We both stood, motionless across the bed from each other.

"I slept." He said, looking completely surprised. It worried me. Did he not usually sleep? It wasn't my business.

"Yeah. Me too." I yawned. Then I remembered my new memory. I thought about telling him. But it was too raw, too new and personal for me to say anything just yet.

"What time is it?" He stretched, arms overhead, mouth wide open. Like he was trying to scare off a bear. Again, I felt like giggling. A sliver of skin above the top of his jeans caught my eyes. I looked away. What was with me today?

It was only, "seven thirty," I said, looking to the digital read on the room phone.

"In the morning?"

I double checked.

"Yep."

"Slept all day."

We just stood still, across from each other, both of us obviously a bit uncomfortable and very surprised. I huffed. It wasn't as if we had sex. We shouldn't feel this weird.

I looked at the comb in my hand, shining despite the cheap lighting of the hotel room.

"I'm, uh, going to change." I pointed to the bathroom.

"Oh! I will…" he trailed off, heading for the door. "See you later." He brushed past me, pulling open the door.

"Steve!" I stopped him before he could practically run out.

He looked back and I could see a slightly pinker tone to his cheeks and forehead.

"Breakfast?" I offered, trying to diffuse some of the awkwardness.

He thought about it. And then I saw a shadow cross his face. My heart sank and real embarrassment crept in the room. He didn't want breakfast. Not with me.

"We don't have to!" I said in a hurry. "I will see you…later." I finished lamely. My chest tightened. I held my breath. I was not going to have a panic attack while he was around.

He was quiet for a second and I waited.

"Siri," he said, but didn't seem to have the right words to explain that I was not who he was looking for, that I was just a pity friend. That I was way too much of a mess for him. Even to be friends.

It made sense.

"It's fine." I repeated myself, giving him a fake smile.

"I am sorry," was the last thing he told me before shutting the door.

I stood in my spot, clutching the comb.

* * *

**staying where you are**

**there's nothing you can do**

**if you're too scared to try **

* * *

This wasn't how I wanted it to end.

I had a dozen other ways it could be, none truthful.

Sorrow dripped. I didn't want to pity myself, especially since I had chosen this path, but here I was in the back of a shield vehicle, bags piled high on my lap, staring woefully out the window into a ruined New York City.

When all of this had started all I had wanted to do was go home. Now my wish had been granted and I felt like I had been gypped. What had a gotten out of all this? I was still scared little Siri. Now I had a bum leg, guilt so heavy I could barely live with myself sometimes, people that I would miss, and regret. And I was going home as soon as I saw Thor and Loki off.

We had to take a long detour to get to Central Park, and traffic was terrible. But the car was quiet. Clint drove silently, Romanov sat opposite of him, watching the streets go past. The radio was off, the windows were up, and I had time to come to terms with my decision. I had to grit my teeth and get on with life. Forget everything. Or else spent my life wondering what would have been.

I touched the comb I had weaved into my hair. I wore it as a token of jaded love for a family I never would know. Maybe I would give it back to Loki. To thank him for the truth.

I was nervous to see them again, and for the last time. But they knew me well enough, they had both seen me as a coward and knew what I was capable of, the power I had with the scepter.

We pulled up next to a very nice car. I had no idea what kind it was, but I am sure Luke would have. Tony stark was there, talking to Dr. Banner, who was smiling slightly, the most relaxed I had ever seen him. I drank them in, with my eyes, trying to take mental pictures of what content and happy looked like.

Directory Fury was there. He took one look at my face through the car window and knew what I had decided. I could feel his disappointment. It boiled at me, under my skin. I told myself I didn't have to live with his opinions any longer. I would leave them all behind.

Steve was there. I knew he would be, but it still made me feel weird. He stood next to Fury, arms crossed over his chest, a motorcycle parked beside him. I saw him watching as the car drove up. It was Thor and Loki we waited for.

I left my bags in the car, hobbling up to them. Let's get this over with. No one said a thing. They were all inclined to be dramatic, I guess. Maybe I did fit in.

"Hi," I said, just to jab at the tension.

"Hello, Siri." Director Fury drawled, bored with me. I clenched my teeth. I would not miss him.

"Gersemi!" Thor rounded the corner, towing Loki behind, still gagged with the mask and bound by the wrists. I stood straighter, forcing myself to be brave. But I still couldn't get the words out. It felt like a small betrayal, me not choosing my Asgardian alien family.

He approached with a carefree swagger, somehow happy to have his rouge brother and sister back in sight.

"Thor." I said, trying to form the sentence I needed to. I felt like I was trying to talk around a mouthful of cinnamon.

Which, by the way, is horrible. Having a spoonful of cinnamon is torture. Don't try it.

I avoided his eyes. "Thor, I can't go."

He didn't say anything. I looked up and found Loki's face. His eyes were dull, tired, but they were fixed on my hair. I blushed. He definitely remembered.

"I see." Thor said, sounding like he didn't at all see.

I pulled the comb out of my hair and held it out towards Loki. He looked at it and then back up at me. I could not read his expression.

"Keep it." Thor said, and then gave me a smile. I tried to return the smile. He moved forward and I was suddenly smothered in a hug I definitely wasn't expecting.

"We will meet again."

I blinked furiously. No crying.

"Here." Director Fury handed Thor a metal box-like contraption, then pulled me back out of reach of my brothers.

I watched as they literally disappeared, taking with them my past and what felt like my future.

* * *

**starin' down the stars**

**jealous of the moon**

**you wish you could fly**

* * *

Before I could process this bereavement, the rest were leaving. Tony and Bruce, apparently now inseparable, drove off in the nice car.

I started to panic when Steve moved towards his bike. I had to say something, leave things at a good spot, not this awkward open ended nonsense.

"Steve!"

"Bye, Siri. It was a pleasure to meet you." He said this as genuinely as possible.

"Thank you." I said. I had to make sure he knew I was grateful for his kindness. He nodded, smiling at me, but I felt it's coldness as surly as I knew I made the wrong decision. He kicked the bike into motion, waved one last time and was gone.

A shiny black S.H.I.E.L.D. car pulled into view, moving faster than it really should, parking next to the one Clint drove. An agent jumped out, one I recognized instantly. Surprisingly it wasn't irritation that I felt. It was a pleasant feeling. He had been kind to me while I was under S.H.I.L.E.D.'s custody.

"Coulson." Fury grimaced at him, irritated in my stead.

Clint choked on his latte, coughing. Romanov's mouth dropped.

"It couldn't wait!" Agent Coulson held up a file, looked at Clint in slight alarm.

"I told you to wait for the clearance!" Fury nearly yelled.

"You also said to screw the council. I didn't carry out that order, either."

"He was dead!" Romanov did yell. Clint was still coughing loudly. This was news to me.

"What can I say? I am becoming more like Jesus every day." Coulson grinned cheekily at her.

"What could possibly be so important as to blow a cover?" Fury's jaw was tight.

"Sir." Coulson handed him the file and looked straight at me. "You might want to reconsider going home."

I just looked at him.

He explained: "Your mother was your kidnapper."

* * *

The End.

** I know, I know! You all hate me now! Things with Steve are less than perfect. I left you with a cliff hanger. I brought Coulson back to life. Siri is ****_still_**** pathetic. I would apologize but I am just too excited on the fact that I finished! And plus, there's a sequel, so that leaves space to clear up the Steve and the cliff hanger. The other two complaints you can tell me all about in a review ; )**

**Thank you for your support! And an extra thank you to the loyal readers who saw this though even though Siri is the name of a program on the iphone. **

**All the lyrics come from one song by Nickel Creek: Jealous of the Moon. I don't own anything to do with Marvel or Nickel Creek. **

**I hope you will have it in your heart to check out the sequel! **

**Love you all, my fellow Avenger fans,**

**Coy.**


End file.
